Disclaimer: I neither own the intellectual property of the Harry Potter universe, nor do I profit from this work produced here.
Warnings: PTSD, dead rabbits, brief reference to Remus and Tonks, er, enjoying the domestic felicities of marriage.
Side note: to CanisLupinHomoSapiens: thank you for your interest in the story; I'm really glad you like it!
Regarding my inclusion of religion in this story, I'm afraid I'll have to respectfully disagree. We know from internal evidence in the books that, regardless of Harry's own upbringing, Christianity is present in Wizarding Britain in similar fashion as it is in modern real Britain: that is, some practice it, some don't, but the history is definitely part of the culture. I actually wouldn't have touched the issue of religion except for the fact that Minerva McGonagall's father was in canon a Presbyterian minister, and her faith would seem to me an incredibly important part of her character makeup. That's going to become more significant as her role in this story continues.
Moreover, some would say that it would be inappropriate to pair two characters together who in canon have no interest in each other, but that's common enough on this site to the point where the pairings can get a little disturbing. As such, I don't see any problem in using religion to flesh out some of the characters. I am sorry if it came off a little heavy-handed; I tried to avoid that, but maybe I wasn't entirely successful.
In the interest of full disclosure to all of my readers, I am a Roman Catholic and this story (and all of my stories) will always be based on the Catholic philosophical tradition, if not explicitly then certainly implicitly. That is the way I have written my works in the past and I don't intend to change that policy anytime soon. If that costs me readers, well, that's their loss, not mine: they're going to miss out on a darn good story.
In all seriousness, though, thank you for your review and your support; I hope this didn't sound like an attack (which wasn't what I was trying to do), I just wanted to explain my reasons for including a religious element to my work. Fanfiction for me is about more than writing good fiction; it's meant to uplift virtuous behavior and inspire my readers to real courage. That's my real purpose in all of my work. I know that's not everyone's objective when it comes to writing, but it is mine, and I intend to continue doing it for as long as I am able.
Enough talk; on with the story!
Remus stirred his porridge absent-mindedly and glanced over to where the headmistress was taking a prim sip of her pumpkin juice.
"Remus, you need to eat," Dora murmured beside him, trying to spoon-feed Teddy his mushed pears.
He offered her a wan smile. "Not much of an appetite, I'm afraid…" He glanced again to McGonagall and felt his stomach twist.
"You don't have to be here for this–"
"Yes, I do. It will look worse if I'm not." He took a steadying breath and offered her an apologetic look. "Sorry. I'm just… nervous."
His wife pursed her lips, and then nodded, squeezing his hand. "You've done nothing wrong," she said firmly. "Remember that."
He swallowed and nodded, trying to eat another bite of porridge for her sake. Dora sighed, and then stood, balancing Teddy on her hip, and walked over to McGonagall.
"For Merlin's sake, just put him out of his misery!" she hissed, shooting a pointed look towards Remus.
"That is exactly what I am trying to do," McGonagall said lowly. "The nearer we are to the beginning of class, the less likely it is I will cause a riot."
Dora opened her mouth to reply, and the noticed that the headmistress had barely touched her own plate. "…Thank you," she murmured, and the older woman glanced up with a nod.
As the clock struck quarter-to and the students began to gather their bags, Professor McGonagall stood and, pressing her wand to her throat, murmured a low, "Sonorus."
"If I might have everyone's attention!" she called, voice magnified out over the hall. The flurry of motion stopped as the students turned, surprised. "Thank you. Before class begins, I'm afraid I have an unfortunate announcement to make."
The students glanced around at each other, worried murmuring filling the hall. McGonagall turned and gave Remus a nod. He took a deep breath and set down his spoon, rising to his feet.
"As some of you may have noticed, Professor Hagrid rescued an injured thestral yesterday morning from the Forbidden Forest. With help from Professor Lupin, we have identified the wounds as having been caused by Feral werewolves."
Whispers broke out across the hall. At the Gryffindor table, Harry turned, confused, as Hermione let out a low noise of shock. Ron had turned ghost-white. "What does she mean– feral werewolves?"
"You don't know?" Ron said hoarsely. Harry shook his head. "Blimey, mate, I keep forgetting the muggles didn't tell you this stuff–"
"There are two kinds of werewolves, Harry," Hermione said uncomfortably. "Tame ones, like Professor Lupin, and… and Ferals, like Greyback."
"So what, Ferals are the ones who attack people, or…?"
"Not exactly," she said quietly. "Any werewolf can attack, if they've not taken Wolfsbane… but Ferals, those are the ones who hunt."
Harry felt slightly sick. Behind him at the Hufflepuff table he heard a girl whimper, "Wh-what would they be doing here?"
"It's obvious, isn't it?!" one of her classmates said in a raised voice. "It's because of him!"
The hall broke into a whirlwind of shouting and angry arguments. McGonagall fired off a shot, then another, quieting the students. "That is enough!" she said sharply. "We have no proof whatsoever that this is in any way connected to Professor Lupin; moreover, were it not for his expertise, you would all be in far more danger. As it is, I am henceforth canceling all future Hogsmeade visits–"
Shouting and cries of "That's not fair!" erupted across the hall. Another shot quieted them. "–until we are certain the village is safe!" McGonagall barked. "That is the final word! Seventh years will also bear in mind that strict security checks will be implemented and additional wards set up; you may leave the school if you wish, but the risk will be on your own heads.
"Furthermore, Chief Auror Lupin has assigned guards to the school battlements and the village; if you encounter anything suspicious, you are to flee the scene and contact one of them or us immediately. Does everyone understand?" There was a collective grumbling and sullen agreement, and she nodded. "Very well. Now all of you, off to your classes."
The hall erupted into a storm of whispers and activity. Remus saw a thousand uncertain glances dart his way; his hands tightened into nervous fists. He glanced over as Dora rested her slender fingers overtop his own, and offered a weary smile.
For the first time all term, he was the last to arrive to his classroom. He could hear the buzzing through the crack in the door as he paused, briefcase in hand. To little surprise, he found that the dialogue consisted mainly of speculation on Ferals, what they were doing near the castle, himself, and werewolves in general.
The chatter stilled as he pushed the door open, every head turning to look at him, wide-eyed. Several of the students even had the grace to blush. "Good morning," he said, far more calmly than he truly felt, and paced to the front of the classroom, setting his briefcase down on the desk. He saw the students shooting looks at each other as he took out his class notes and set them on the podium. "Today we begin the more practical part of the course. As you may or may not know, Seventh Year Defense focuses on Magical Beings, as opposed to Creatures or Dark Magic. Can anyone tell me the difference between the first two?"
He glanced up to see the students staring at him with obvious apprehension. Even Hermione, who usually could not help but answer a question when it came from a professor's mouth, did not dare reply. "Come now," he said with an awkward chuckle, trying to set them at ease, "I know your Defense education has been a bit lacking, but surely you can at least differentiate between Beings and Creatures."
Tentatively, the young witch raised her hand. He nodded. "Hermione?"
"A Being has sentience, self-knowledge," she said, tone uncharacteristically uncertain. "Such intelligence is usually recognized through language and free will, that is, the ability to choose between right and wrong. Creatures do not possess these abilities."
"A textbook definition, Miss Granger, thank you. Now, can anyone provide me with an example of a Being?" He nodded. "Seamus."
"Humans, sir," said the young Irishman, lowering his hand.
"Humans, excellent." He waved a wand at the board; the words 'Humans (homo sapiens sapiens)' appeared in chalk. "Anything else?"
"Veela," Ron volunteered. The professor nodded and added it to the list; Harry was surprised to see that it fell under humans as "homo sapiens vilas."
"Giants!"
"Merfolk!" With each species, the professor added another name to the board, including what the muggle-raised students recognized as the taxonomical term.
"Trolls?" one of the younger Slytherins suggested. Several people broke into giggles.
"Actually, yes," Remus said with a nod and a smile, "Trolls, although of admittedly lesser intellect that wizards, are indeed sentient beings with both a language and a sense of morality; as such, they can be held accountable for their actions against each other and other species. By magizoologist classification they are Beings; however, the Ministry has them labeled under partially-sentient Creatures. Alright, so we have humans, veela, giants, merfolk, and trolls; can you name any more?"
"Werewolves," someone coughed. Everyone turned, but no one seemed to know who had spoken.
Lupin went quiet for a moment, and then said, quite evenly, "Well, that depends on who you ask, and at what time." He waved his wand; werewolves appeared on the board, but without a following taxonomy. "Twenty-nine days out of the month, the Ministry registers werewolves as Beings; during the full moon, however, the classification switches to Creature."
"And what do you think, sir?" one of the Hufflepuff students asked bravely, and Remus smiled a bit.
"I consider werewolves beings," he replied, walking back towards the board; the term vanished, much to the surprise of the students. "Partly because I think it ridiculous to consider myself a creature, and partly because I am a scientist." He turned, shrugging his shoulders. "On a biological level, werewolves and, as it happens, vampires, are merely humans infected with a particularly troublesome disease."
"But what about on the full moon?" Dean Thomas interjected. "I mean, you're not human then, so…"
"Actually, I am; the transformation is a form of forced animagancy, and, like all apparent interspecies transfiguration, the genetics of the animal in question don't actually change, whatever form they may take." He scanned the class for the next question to find that many were staring at him, quite confused. Lupin frowned, startled. "Surely you've covered this in Transfiguration?"
Hermione was nodding rapidly, as were several of the other muggle-born and halfblooded students, but most of the purebloods looked as if he'd asked them to recite Homer's Iliad in the original Greek. "Er… to be honest, sir," Ron said sheepishly, "I didn't understand half of what we were supposed to learn in that class."
"We did go over it in sixth year, sir," Hermione added earnestly. "And molecular structure management in fourth."
"How many of you can explain to me what Miss Granger just said?" The same students– muggle-borns and a few half-bloods– raised their hands. Remus just stared. "My word. Most of you really haven't the faintest idea what I'm talking about, do you?"
The rest of the students shook their heads.
The professor was floored, to say the least. Having been left without many career opportunities in the wizarding world after the First War thanks to a certain senior undersecretary, the young werewolf had decided to make the best out of a bad situation and gone to the States on a British student visa. There he'd worked and studied for four long years to get his degree in biology, and had even taught at a muggle secondary school before the American Congress had adopted Madame Umbridge's policies (rather unconstitutionally in Remus's opinion, but that was beside the point). It seemed frankly mad to him that so many of the young witches and wizards before him hadn't the slightest idea of the barest scientific essentials.
"…Well," he said, after a long pause. "We'll have to remedy that."
"Professor?"
The whole class looked over. Draco Malfoy flushed, but didn't lower his hand. Remus nodded calmly. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"
"What about- what about werewolves who've turned feral? Are they still human?"
The class broke into whispers as many of the students began to debate one way or another. Even Hermione looked uncertain. Lupin held up a hand, and the room quieted. "I would assume you would be talking about a Mr. Fenrir Greyback and his cohorts?"
Malfoy closed his mouth and nodded.
"It is true, some werewolves do choose to 'turn feral,' as you put it, and retain part of their wolfish characteristics throughout the whole month. During my undercover work for the Order, I met several such individuals." He shook his head. "While there are a few benefits to this decision- the partakers enjoy unusual longevity and strength, and it certainly makes transformations less painful, or so I've heard- the detriments are not at all to be desired."
"Detriments?" Harry interjected curiously.
"A constant desire for human flesh," he elaborated grimly.
Several of the students looked slightly ill.
"In response to your question, yes, they are still human. Turning feral is a progression of the disease, brought on by willfully turning or killing a human during the full moon."
"That would mean it's a relatively young phenomenon, wouldn't it?" Hermione questioned. "After all, Wolfsbane was only invented in the last twenty years…"
"There are certain historical artifacts which have allowed my kind to retain their powers of reason during the full moon," Lupin explained. "Very rare, and as you can imagine, quite valuable, not the sort of things you go bragging about to all your lycanthrope friends. So yes, turning feral, while not unheard of, was until recently quite uncommon."
"So after turning feral, are they trapped like that?" the witch inquired. "Is there any way to go back to how they once were?"
"It is possible to reverse the effects, but to do so requires a great amount of effort, and, from what I have seen, is an incredibly agonizing experience. Not all who do so survive the process." Hermione nodded and leaned back in her seat, apparently satisfied, and Remus looked around the room for the inevitable next question.
He didn't have to wait long; without the warning of a raised hand, a voice burst out with a nervous: "What are they like?" He realized, with as much surprise as the rest of the class, that the question had come from none other than Lavender Brown. She blushed and added, "Sir."
Remus hesitated for a moment, trying to decide how to answer. For the most part, Ferals were nothing but bad news, but one case in particular rendered it impossible for him to make such a broad generalization.
"…As a rule, they are usually to be avoided," he replied at last. "Using a victim to turn feral is… is one of the worst crimes you could inflict on anyone. And most of them do not care whom they hurt or why, during the full moon or any other time of the month. I have known one, and only one, who ever truly regretted her decision, and she fought the bloodlust relentlessly from that day on… but she was the rare exception." He looked at them all very seriously and said, "If you come across a feral werewolf, I have only one piece of advice for you: run and do not look back."
The class fell into a heavy silence. Remus, having had his lesson entirely derailed, wasn't sure how to continue. He looked back to the board and found that the happy chalk letters seemed now almost macabre in the gloomy atmosphere.
It was on this cheerful note that door suddenly opened, and one Professor McGonagall stepped inside. "Sincerest apologies for my interruption, Professor Lupin," she said, glancing around at the students, "But I'm afraid I need you to come with me. You as well, Mr. Malfoy; the rest of you may pack your things."
"What's going on?" asked Parvati Patil, who was nearest the door.
"Never you mind, Miss Patil. Remus, do hurry; I'm afraid it's rather urgent."
Surprised, he nodded and turned to the students. "Very well; you may go. For Wednesday read the rest of the chapter; I also want a brief summary on the differences between Beings and Creatures from all of you, and an attached list of all the Beings listed in your textbook. Class is dismissed."
The students seemed to take as long as possible to ready their bags and trickle out of the classroom, clearly wanting to eavesdrop on whatever secret purpose had caused the Headmistress to interrupt such an interesting class. McGonagall, much to their chagrin, refused to speak so much as a word until the door was firmly shut behind them; she cast a quick muffling charm on the door and turned to the professor and student. "I'm terribly sorry, Remus; I just got a letter in from the Governors. You're on suspension until we can get this whole article mess cleaned up."
"I'm what?" he demanded, aghast. "Professor– surely you don't think–!"
"Of course not, Remus, but it doesn't matter what I think; I made you and the rest of this school a promise that I would take all appropriate measures to find the truth regarding any allegations of suspicious activity. That's a vow I can't break, not even for you."
"Or for me," Draco interjected. "That's why you asked for me, isn't it?"
The headmistress pursed her lips. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy, it is. Allow me to assure you that you have my fullest confidence until proven otherwise, but for the moment you, too, are on suspension."
"Brilliant," he snorted in derision. "Just what I needed."
"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do. If it's any consolation, I've spoken to Dora– er, Auror Lupin. She's promised to get someone up here to do the official questioning by dinnertime. Until then, I'm afraid I'll have to confine you both to your quarters."
Draco looked mutinous, but Remus merely nodded. "I fully understand, Professor. Still, there's the matter of my classes…"
"I will be handling the rest of your classes for today, Remus, never fear. Mr. Malfoy, Professor Slughorn is outside to take you back to the Slytherin common room." Thankfully, the boy went without trouble, although he was still scowling, which Remus found frankly quite understandable. The headmistress herself turned to him with a sigh. "If you will permit this old bird to escort you?"
"Well, I've never had a lady walk me to my door, but I suppose there's a first for everything."
They didn't talk much on the way back to the apartment. Only on the last flight of stairs did McGonagall say, "I truly am sorry, Remus. This was not how I intended to have your first term begin. Of course I wasn't so foolish as to hope everything would change the minute the war ended, but I'd hoped we would have made some progress by now."
"I find it helps to remind myself that whatever people may think, we're really not so different." He smiled ruefully. "Considering the family history, I could have been a hundred times more bigoted and hateful than any of them."
"Even so." She sighed, shook her head. "I can only imagine how disheartening it must be, after all you've done for us…"
"I don't need to be thanked for what I did, Professor. Any decent person would have done the same."
"Hm." They'd reached his door; the headmistress turned to him, green eyes very serious. "He would have been very proud of you, Remus," she said quietly, "as would have your parents, your friends. You ought to take a little more pride in yourself."
For a long moment, he was stunned to silence, filled with an unspeakable gratitude. Apparently understanding his incapacity to reply, McGonagall reached past him and knocked smartly on the door. A moment later, it opened to reveal a red-haired Nymphadora. "Remus!" the auror cried, nearly launching himself on him and latching her arms around his neck. "Oh, Remus, love, I'm so sorry, it's not fair–"
"Dora, it's fine," he said firmly, pulling back just a few inches to look her in her flushed, angry face. "Professor McGonagall and the Board are just trying to ensure the safety of their students. I would do exactly the same if I thought there was any cause for suspicion."
"It's still not fair," she grumbled, pulling him back in again.
Remus laughed despite himself at her unrepentantly childish behavior. He heard Minerva chuckle behind them and add wryly, "I'll leave you two to yourselves."
Dora pulled him inside and closed the door as the headmistress walked away. "Where's Teddy?" Remus questioned, looking around the room.
"He was tired, so I put him down for his nap a little early." She touched his face, clearly concerned. "Love, I know this must be bothering you… you know you can talk to me if you need to, don't you?"
"Dora, believe me: I have no desire whatsoever to talk about it."
Dora, wonderful woman that she was, clearly wasn't satisfied with this explanation, but she let it go. "Well, you're under house arrest," she sighed, leaning against the door. "Thankfully McGonagall said I could stand guard until Arthur sends someone up from Interrogation this afternoon, so she won't have to pull another professor out of classes to keep an eye on you."
"I'm just worried about my classes. Do you know, half my seventh years haven't had the slightest bit of scientific schooling? What do wizard parents teach their children, honestly?"
"Little spells, mostly. How to control their magic, not set the house on fire. Ciphering and grammar." She shrugged. "My dad taught me most of the muggle things, you knew that."
"I'm going to have a word with McGonagall once this whole newspaper business is settled. I'll teach them myself if I have to."
"I know you will, love."
"I mean it. These children are missing a valuable part of their educatio–"
He was cut off by the sudden press of a finger to his lips. "Remus, dear, you know I love you, brains and all," Dora said, with a half-exasperated, half-mischievous sigh, "but Teddy is asleep, you and I've had an actual full night of rest, and both of us are essentially trapped here until dinner tonight. I don't want to hear one more thing about 'valuable education.' You understand?"
Remus was a scientist. He understood.
"…And that concludes our study of the Anglo-Irish treaty of 498 Anno Domini under King Arthur Pendragon. Class dismissed."
The students breathed a sigh of relief as Professor Bins stood from his chair and drifted absently through wall. "Ugh," Ron groaned, shouldering his bag, "I like McGonagall, honestly, but if I were headmaster I'd chuck this class out altogether."
"Well I thought it was very informative," said Hermione with a sniff. "It's nice to have a timeline for the stories I'm reading…"
"Fine, you can teach it to us later," Harry yawned. "I'm gonna go take a nap."
"Very funny, mate," Ron snorted. "C'mon, we're gonna be late."
"Late for what?"
The two turned to look at him, surprised. "Harry, today is Quidditch tryouts," Ron said, incredulous.
"What? But tryouts are always on Saturday!"
"They changed it this year. It's been all over the notice boards." Hermione frowned. "Harry, are you feeling alright?"
No, as it happened, he wasn't. He was exhausted from so many nights in a row with little sleep, he had a mountain of homework he'd been too distracted to complete, and the stress of trying to act like nothing was wrong was beginning to wear him thin. But he forced a grin and, in his best imitation of James Potter, replied with a nonchalant, "Yeah, just tired. Merlin, can't believe I forgot; we'd better get going."
He brushed past them, and thus did not see the look of suspicious worry that Ron and Hermione shared, but neither of them said a word, instead hurrying after him down to the pitch.
A small crowd had already gathered on the field, shivering in the relentless downpour. Hermione cast a quick impermeable charm over her friends' cloaks, much to Ron and Harry's gratitude, and then hurried off to the stands where several friends, admirers and significant others were waiting, squinting through the sheets of driving rain. "Alright!" Harry called, forcing his overtired mind to the task. "I know we're short for time and not exactly in the best conditions–" The applicants chuckled, and he was momentarily grateful for the storm, which apparently had warded off most of the first-years. "–So I'll make this as quick as possible. Seeker's position is taken; we need a keeper, three chasers and two beaters, and a backup for each position. Everyone, group into ten and give me a lap around the pitch!"
After an hour, he had found his chasers: Ginny, Adrian Harold (whom he was reluctant to play but felt morally obliged to accept, since Harold was the best on the field after Ginny), and, to everyone's shock, Neville Longbottom, who was surprisingly good on a broom. "I didn't know you played," Harry said, wide-eyed, as the other Gryffindor landed.
Neville shrugged, embarrassed. "Never thought I was good enough to try out before," he admitted. "But yesterday I thought, well, may as well give it a go, right?"
"Yeah." He stuck out a hand, and Neville shook it, grinning. "Welcome to the team."
Chaser tryouts ended without too much fuss. He appointed Dennis Creevy as backup, who gave him a shy, thankful smile and went to sit off on the side, and the rejected students walking away grumbling amongst themselves. Beaters were somewhat easier to find; the two he'd played with in his sixth year hadn't shown up (Ritchie Coote, of course, had graduated, and it seemed Jimmy Peaks was in the hospital wing following a duel-gone-wrong), so he selected two stocky sixth-years by the names of Marcus Higgs and Billy Hobbes. Then came keeper tryouts.
Unlike the previous year, there were four boys and two girls lined up to try for the keeper position. Harry cast a nervous glance to his best friend. He knew Ron was good, but they hadn't exactly had much time to practice in the last year, and of course there was his friend's unfortunate fear of crowds. He glanced up to Hermione, who raised an eyebrow and showed him her wand-free hands. Clearly she wasn't going to give her boyfriend and unfair edge this time around.
But he needn't have worried. Ron saved all five of the goals and even the extra two Harry set to break the tie between him and a rather speedy fourth-year girl. "Well done," he muttered as the other applicants left. "Glad to see you got over that stage fright."
Ron shot him a grin. "Yeah, well, I guess escaping by dragon from a bank robbery puts things into perspective for you."
Harry snickered, and then whistled for the other players. "Alright!" he called, as the now thoroughly soaked students crowded around in the soggy mud. "Since tryouts were late this year we're running short on training time; first game is the sixth of October. Who all is free Saturday mornings at eight?"
After setting twice-weekly practices, Harry dismissed the team, sending them hurrying for the relative warmth and dry of the changing rooms. Hermione was waiting for him and Ron when they got out, her brown hair having turned to a mess of frizzy curls in the rain. "Hi," she said breathlessly, trying her best to smooth her hair as if they hadn't seen it in such a state for the last eight years. "Er, congratulations. That was some really tough competition…"
"Yeah, well…" Ron shrugged his shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck, which was quickly flushing red. "I just did my best."
"Right."
"Right."
The two stared at each other for a long moment, until Harry cleared his throat. They both jumped, Hermione turning as red as Ron. "Dinner?" their friend suggested.
"Right. Yeah," Ron mumbled, as if he'd quite forgotten what food was. "Yeah, that sounds good."
They headed down the corridors towards the great hall, enveloped in an awkward and unusual silence that was quickly beginning to grate on the third party's nerves. It confused him, frankly; if the past few months had been any indication, neither Hermione nor Ron were the sort to allow a new romance to get in the way of their continual conversing and bickering, but tonight it seemed like neither could think of anything to say. The brunette kept glancing up at the redhead nervously, as if intending to do something but not quite able to find the nerve, and the redhead stared straight ahead, growing continuously redder. Harry was just about to lose his patience when Hermione stopped short. "Oh!"
"What's that?" said Ron, startled.
"Oh, I forgot my bag! I have to go back for it."
"I'll get it," Ron offered chivalrously, but the girl shook her head.
"No, you two go on; it won't take me long. Save me a seat in the Hall, won't you?"
"'Course."
"Thanks." She took a few steps behind, before suddenly turning back. Blushing madly, she rushed back up to them and gave the surprised Ron a quick peck on the lips, before hurrying away, looking positively mortified.
Harry burst out laughing. "Was that what that was all about?"
"Shut up," Ron muttered, now roughly the shade of a ripe radish, but as they started walking again, Harry saw him grin.
"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. I think we can safely assert that you pose no danger to your fellow students. Do you concur, Auror Lupin?"
"Yep. Seems like Rita blowing smoke out her arse, per usual."
The interrogator raised an eyebrow at the auror's unorthodox phrasing, but merely handed the young man a second phial filled with some sort of blue liquid. "That's the veritaserum antidote. Professor McGonagall, any further recommendations from the school representative?"
"None whatsoever," the headmistress said formally, and nodded to the young man in question. "Your suspension is hereby lifted, Mr. Malfoy. You may go."
He gave a short nod and tipped back the potion, downing the lot. A moment later, he felt his sense of self-control return to him, and he rose to his feet, shouldering his schoolbag. "Send in Remus on your way out," the auror added as he headed for the door.
He didn't reply, pulling open the door to the headmistress's office and stepping outside into the darkness of the corridor. The professor looked over, startled, and Draco gave him the barest trace of a nod before continuing on his way, not meeting Lupin's eyes.
Draco knew by his watch that it was nearing dinner, but he didn't feel much like company at the moment. His stomach churned with almost nauseating shame as he walked without any particular destination, footsteps echoing loudly in the empty stone corridors.
The investigation had been… invasive, to say the least. Although the headmistress and Auror Lupin– his cousin, he remembered briefly, not that they'd ever spoken– had ensured he had a fair chance to explain himself, the interrogator had combed over every detail of that night, repeating in every possible format the question of whether Draco had any intentions of furthering Death Eater aims. There had been no opportunity to try to present it in any more flattering light; the truth had been laid cold and clinically bare, each admission more incriminating than the last. Did you intend to kill Albus Dumbledore? Yes. Would you have carried out the assassination yourself if Professor Snape hadn't arrived at the scene? I don't know. Do you believe muggle-born students have a right to attend this institution? No. Do you intend to take any actions which might prevent their attendance or cause harm to the staff or fellow students? No, no, he didn't, he didn't, he just wanted to live out the rest of his life in peace! Couldn't they understand that? Didn't he have that right?
Not anymore, a voice hissed in his mind, as honest and unbidden as his veritaserum-induced replies. Without warning, a torrent of images filled his mind: Charity Burbage's blank face disappearing into the gullet of that wretched snake. Thorfinn Rowl, twitching and moaning on the floor, pleading for mercy. Granger's screams echoing up the staircase and through the walls of his childhood bedroom, the door to his back, biting hard into his knuckles because she wasn't the first and he knew she wouldn't be the last. Professor Dumbledore, white hair gleaming by the light of the moon, lying broken and still beneath the astronomy tower as he fled the scene of his crime.
Not after what you've done.
He was broken from his whirlwind thoughts by the sudden sound of voices from the side-corridor ahead; Draco realized, too late, that he'd been walking absent-mindedly in the direction of the doors to the Quidditch pitch. He glanced left and right; no corridors branched off between him and the next, he would have to go back if he hoped to avoid the newcomers. He turned and quickly began back towards the nearest hall.
"–was worried about that last one; thought for sure Weasley was gonna throw me a bad toss."
"Still bitter 'bout her turning you down two years ago, eh, Harold?"
"'Course not. Dodged a bullet with that one, I did– eh, look who it is!"
Draco cursed internally but didn't slow his pace. "Oy, Malfoy!" the voice rang out, bouncing off the halls. "Taking a little evening stroll, are you?"
"All alone, what a loser," a third voice sniggered. So it was three to one, not good odds. Don't turn around, don't turn around–
"Oy! Look at me when I'm talking to you, Death Eater! Ligabis loris!
Draco let out a rather undignified yelp as he tripped, falling flat on the floor. He lay there for a moment, gasping; the blow had knocked the wind out of him. He could hear laughing from behind him.
It was a moment ill-spent. Before he could mutter the counter-hex and untie the knot in his shoelaces, he heard Harold shout, "Expelliarmus!" and his wand, which had been knocked from his pocket in the fall, flew out of his reach. He cursed again; after all he'd seen, he couldn't believe he'd been disarmed by a couple of measly students. Coughing and forcing himself to his knees, he tried to turn and get a good look at his attackers, but it was too late: he felt two sets of hands grab him by the shoulders and haul him to his feet.
"Well look at that, boys; we caught ourselves a dark wizard!" It was Adrian Harold all right, from his Quidditch attire probably fresh out of tryouts and, if his grin was anything to go by, riding the high of his success. "We should send a letter into the corps; no way they'd turn us down after this!"
The voices behind him guffawed; Draco struggled to get away and found himself woefully inadequate against the likes of Marcus Higgs and Billy Hobbes. It was clear that they were the brawns to Harold's brains; after all, every bully needs his muscle.
Oh, the irony.
"What do you want, Harold?" the Slytherin spat, trying to wrench his arms free again. The newly-minted beaters' grips only tightened.
"Excuse me? I don't think you're really in any position to be taking that tone with me, Malfoy." He waved the hawthorn stave in his face. "So what's a Death Eater doing, skulking about at this time of night? Bit suspicious, don't you think, boys?"
More sniggering. "I wasn't skulking," Draco snapped. "I just took a walk."
"And why should we believe that?"
"I haven't done anything!"
That was the wrong thing to say. Harold's face flushed bright red. "Haven't done anything?" he demanded furiously. "You've done plenty! I had to leave the bloody country 'cos of you lot! My family was on the run for months!" Draco realized, too late, that Harold was a muggle-born. "So I'm going to ask you one more time: what's a lying, no-good, rotten murderer like you doing creeping around down here while everyone's at dinner, eh? What are you up to?!"
"I'm not up to anything, you oblivious cretin!"
He felt pain explode across his jaw before he even realized Harold had hit him. He looked back, shocked, and saw wrath blazing in the other boy's eyes. "Well it's your word against ours, isn't it?" the Gryffindor hissed, and that was when Draco realized he was in trouble.
The assault came in a barrage of mixed hexes, jinxes, and physical blows. Draco felt several of the boils burst as one of the beaters slammed his face against the wall. A numb thought fought its way through the haze of pain. This is justice. This is what Thorfinn felt.
"You think your blood's purer than ours, eh?!" Someone grabbed his hair; stars spun his eyes as his head cracked against the stone. Crabbe. Professor Burbage.
"You think you're so much better than us? Well? Do you?!"
He hit the floor before he realized they'd thrown him down, his blistered hands scraping against the rough stone. He instinctively curled into a ball as the blows rained down from above, covering the back of his head as he'd been taught. It'll be over soon. They'll grow bored and move on, just don't move, don't move, don't–
"Fight back, you piece of shite!" Another kick, this time to the side, sent a splinter of white-hot pain up the side of his stomach, and he cried out. "Fight back!"
Ollivander. Granger. The man who broke ranks, the poor bastard Greyback turned…
CRACK! Blood and pain filled his eyes, his mouth. Professor Dumbledore.
"How does it feel now, Death Eater? How does it feel now?!"
"THAT IS ENOUGH!"
Immediately, the attacks stopped. Draco struggled to push himself up on his burnt hands, coughing; through bleary eyes, he could see a figure standing at the end of the hall, wand drawn. "Let him go!" the figure ordered, and the three hastily stepped back. "What is the meaning of this?"
"We- uh-"
"It was self-defense," Harold lied smoothly. "He attacked us first."
"Oh, did he?" the voice said coldly, and with a sinking feeling, Draco suddenly identified his savior. "Funny, but I don't see any bruises on you."
"We- we got lucky-"
"Yes, so lucky you managed to hex him and beat him half to death before he even landed a jinx."
There was a moment's silence in the corridor; Malfoy could imagine the three of them gaping like fish. "H-he was being suspicious!" Harold stammered at last. "He's got no reason to be down here– he was looking for trouble! Go on; ask him yourself!"
"Hm." There was the click of shoes on stone, and then a shadow fell over him. Draco scowled as a head of frizzy brunette hair came into his field of vision. "Is that true?" Granger asked calmly. "Do you have any reason to be down here instead of at dinner?"
After a long silence, he shook his head, a kernel of hatred burning in his chest. It wasn't fair. He'd done nothing, and still, he was going to be punished for it.
"I see." Granger stood, turning to face his attackers. "I've heard enough. Fifty points from Gryffindor."
Draco looked up, startled, as the three let out sharp gasps. "Fifty points–!"
"And detention for each of you with Mr. Filch! Friday evening at six!"
"But– Granger, we've got Quidditch on Saturday morning–!"
"Then I suggest you get your homework done early this week! And be glad I don't tell Harry about this! Now go on!"
With much grumbling and griping, the three hurried off down the hall. Once they'd rounded the corner, the Head Girl knelt down again. "Do you need help?" she inquired awkwardly, her assertive demeanor fading away.
"I'm fine," Draco muttered, forcing himself to his feet and biting back a cry of pain. His ankle was definitely twisted.
"You're hurt; I'll call for Madame Pomfrey–"
"I said I don't need your help, mudblood!"
Granger's eyes flew wide. Draco immediately shut his mouth, realizing he'd just insulted the Head Girl. There goes the House Cup, a thought drifted by, surprising him that even still care about something as ultimately worthless as a bloody trophy.
But rather than taking points, the girl merely watched him, the intensity in her brown eyes making him feel like a beetle under a magnifying glass. She raised her hand, and he flinched, but she didn't slap him. Instead, she pushed her right sleeve cuff up to the elbow, then her left. For a moment he was confused, before he saw the white scars carved into her wrist. His stomach churned, and, much to his shame, he dropped his eyes.
"Sit down," the girl said brusquely, and he glanced up again, startled.
"What?"
"Sit down. You need proper medical attention for that ankle; it's not going to help any for you to keep standing on it."
He scoffed. "I think I can manage–"
"Don't be ridiculous, you can't possibly walk on it. Now sit down or I'm taking points."
Grudgingly, he followed orders, sliding down against the wall. Granger drew her wand and murmured an incantation; a moment later, a silvery otter burst from the tip of her wand. "Lavender Brown," she asserted calmly. The blond behind her groaned, but she ignored it and sent the patronus off with a wave of her wand.
As the otter streaked away in a blur of silver, she glanced down at the Slytherin. "…Your nose is bleeding," she said at last, obviously uncomfortable.
"Well, it's broken," he muttered, grimacing as he tried to stem the flow with his hand. She winced at the blisters but didn't comment, instead opening her bag and drawing a piece of parchment, which she transfigured into a cream-colored kerchief. He accepted it without thanks, leaving the two of them to wait there in increasing discomfort.
Granger jumped as a silvery cloud appeared in front of her. "Lavender!" she exclaimed with obvious relief.
"Hermione, is this yours?" a voice replied as shadows took shape in the cloud, revealing a scarred young lady with curly blond hair.
"Yes; I just broke up a fight down by the hallway to the pitch. One of them was injured; could you fetch Madame Pomfrey?"
"How bad are the injuries?"
"A twisted ankle seems to be the worst of it."
"I can probably take care of it, then; wait there."
"Will do."
The cloud vanished, and the two were once again left in silence. After about five minutes a figure appeared at the end of the corridor. "Oh my goodness," Brown gasped, hurrying up to them; she was still in her orderly's uniform. "What happened?"
"Bit of a fight," Granger said airily. Draco shot her a surprised look, but when she gave a small shake of her head he realized she was, for whatever reason, protecting his pride. "He got the worst of it."
"I can see that." Brown knelt down beside him, inspecting his ankle and the various hex-marks. "Hm. Thanks, Hermione; I can manage from here."
"Alright." She cast a hesitant glance to the Slytherin, who rolled his eyes. Granger raised a brow and then turned and left, leaving the werewolf to tend to the Slytherin.
The awkwardness only continued to grow; Draco was in no mood for small talk, but it seemed that Brown's anxious chatter only increased the more uncomfortable she felt. Still, she seemed competent; even as he tuned out her ceaseless jabbering, he was somewhat impressed by how the girl he'd always considered to be something of a giggling fool expertly mended his injured limb for the second time that week, before removing a miniscule stone basin from a medical pouch at her hip and enlarging it. "–And this should help with the blisters," she explained, filling the basin with a phial of dittany. "Now let me take a look at your face…"
He let out a relieved sigh as he soaked his hands in the dittany; the blisters on his hands bubbled and then faded away. Lavender fixed his broken nose and administered some sort of potion to the boils which made them dry up and fall off, and then vanished the mess and shrunk the basin again. "I think I might take you up to the infirmary after all," she said thoughtfully, examining his skin. "Just to have Madame Pomfrey give you a once-over for residual spell-damage."
She helped him to his feet, and they descended into a mutual silence as they made their way through the corridors and up the staircases towards the infirmary. After several minutes, Brown spoke.
"It wasn't a fight, was it?"
Draco glanced over, surprised by her insight. "…Not a fair one," he admitted, looking away. They didn't speak again until they reached the infirmary door.
Madame Pomfrey was as bustling and overbearing as always. She gave him a full examination, asked a few questions to which he supplied vague answers, "hmmed" doubtfully, and declared him fit as a fiddle. "Well done," she added to Brown, who had just come out of what appeared to be a linen room, once again dressed in her school uniform. "My, is it that time already? You'd both best be off to dinner."
The Slytherin thanked her quietly, much to the Healer's surprise, and was just about to leave when he heard from behind him, "Sister, did you move my cloak?"
"Hm? No, dear, why?"
"It's missing," said Lavender with a frown, over by what appeared to be a row of coat-hooks, school satchel in hand. "I left it hear with my bag when I started my shift. Did someone take it?"
"Oh dear," said Madame Pomfrey, glancing up with worry. "It can't say, Lavender; I've had the door open all day. Anyone could have…" She trailed off and pursed her lips. "I'm so sorry, my dear."
"…It's alright," the Gryffindor said quietly, looking very much as if it were not. "I'm sure it'll turn up somewhere…"
That was when Draco left, slipping out the door and heading down to the great hall, something strangely thick and nauseating settling in his stomach. He felt angry and ashamed all at once; a few years ago he would have found such a prank as stealing a werewolf's cloak great fun, well-deserved hassling from those she endangered and offended by her very presence. And this to a girl who had tended to him, a criminal, a social pariah, without shrinking away. Draco realized with belated surprise that he had neither pulled away from her; he hadn't even thought to be disgusted by her– or, come to think of it, Professor Lupin. He, who had encountered the most depraved and debauched of their kind, was finding it increasingly difficult to see the beast beneath the knitted jumpers and silk bows.
He realized with a start that he was walking inside the doors of the Great Hall and shook himself from his thoughts, going to take his regular seat at the Slytherin table. Vince had already gorged himself on the plates of roasted chicken and was starting in on a bowl of strawberry sorbet. Blaise seemed to be deep in discussion with Gladwyn and Duggard about some assignment – which one, Draco couldn't bring himself to care. He saw out of the corner of his eyes as Brown entered through the double oak doors and went to sit at the Gryffindor table with the Patil twins.
"Hey," Blaise said suddenly, nodding to the entrance. Draco glanced over; Professor Lupin and his wife were entering with the headmistress, the man looking exhausted but rather content, hand-in-hand with his wife. "Look at him," the Slytherin sneered. "Bet you he got off scott-free. Filthy scum."
Gladwyn, Duggard and even Vince sniggered. Draco swallowed and didn't speak, spearing a few glazed carrots with his fork.
"How many kiddies d'you think he bit out there, eh?"
"Half a dozen, I'd bet!" Gladwyn said eagerly, anxious to contribute to the conversation. Blaise snorted.
"Filthy animals. Should be locked up."
Draco slammed his fork down on the table. The other four looked at him, startled. "What's your problem?" Blaise demanded.
"Nothing," he muttered, reaching for his spoon. "Nothing."
Across the hall, Hermione paused halfway through her bowl of fresh fruit as Lavender Brown began to look for the rarest piece of chicken. "How is he?" she said in an undertone, much to the confusion of her friends.
Lavender glanced up. "He'll be fine. You were right; a twisted ankle was the worst of it."
"He?" Ron demanded, glancing between the two. "He who?"
His girlfriend brushed this off with a vague, "Oh, I had to break up a fight; that's why I was late. One of them was injured."
"Really? What happened?"
She was saved from having to answer by a loud crack that erupted through the hall, stalling conversation. Every head turned to look as one of the school house-elves, cringing and bat-ears tucked low, crept over to the Gryffindor table with what appeared to be a red blanket in hand, stopping just behind Lavender.
"Missus, Kippy was told to deliver this to you," the elf said in a quivering voice, knees knocking together in fear. "Kippy is very sorry, Missus, Kippy had no choice-!"
"Oh, don't be sorry!" Lavender reassured her, standing up from the bench. The elf flinched. "What is it?"
With trembling hands, the elf offered up the cloth. Every eye in the hall was craning for a better view. As Lavender unfolded it, Harry, who was among those nearest, realized that it was not a blanket, but rather the shredded remains a blood-red cloak– Lavender's cloak, if the fur lining was anything to go by, but he thought he could distinctly remember it being a sort of raspberry pink color. Baffled, he looked to Ron and Hermione. Although the latter seemed similarly confused, the pureblood's eyes had gone wide, mouth open in a little o of recognition.
His eyes darted back as Lavender let out a little noise in the back of her throat, like a dog's whimper. Her gold eyes filled with tears, breaths coming quicker and quicker. Back at the staff table, one Remus Lupin rose to his feet.
Without warning, Lavender Brown dropped the ruined cloak and dashed off, bursting into sobs as she ran straight out the double oak doors.
The hall burst into an uproar: muggle-born students turned to purebloods, demanding an explanation; purebloods were looking increasingly uncomfortable and hunkering down in their seats. "What was that?" Harry demanded, looking back at Ron. "Why did she start crying?" But Ron had gone a dark shade of red and didn't answer. The Patil twins leapt to their feet in feet in unison beside him, hurrying off after their friend. "Ron!"
"I-It's a scary story," the pureblood answered hoarsely, looking deeply ashamed of himself. "Y'know, like – like the kind you tell on Hallowe'en, and stuff."
"A story?" Hermione questioned.
"Yeah, you know– 'The Three Little Squibs,' 'The Boy who cried Werewolf,' that sort of thing. But 'Little Red-Cloak' was the worst. George told it to me when I was eight; I wet the bed for weeks… mum nearly hexed him for that one…"
"Oh no," Hermione gasped, realization dawning on her. "You don't mean– the cloak–"
"Poor Lavender," Ginny whispered.
"What's going on?" Harry demanded, frustrated to once again be the last to know about something wizarding-related.
Hermione turned to him with somber eyes. "Little Red Riding Hood, Harry," she said softly, biting her lip.
A moment later it clicked; his mouth fell open and he looked up to Lupin, but the man seemed to be having a very hasty and intense discussion with Professor McGonagall, who nodded rapidly, rising to her feet. Lupin appeared to thank her, and then ran down the steps and out the doors after the other werewolf. "C'mon, mate," Ron said, standing up. "C'mon, let's go–"
But that was when the second most shocking thing of the night happened. For while they had been talking, another conversation had been underway across the hall. As he watched Lavender flee the hall in tears, one Draco Malfoy heard the voices behind him burst into snickers. He turned to see Gladwyn and Duggard high-five each other under the table, and Blaise Zabini looking supremely proud of himself. "Did you do that?" Draco demanded, shocked.
Zabini, unfortunately, utterly failed to notice the growing anger in his friend's eyes. "Wasn't very hard," he boasted smugly. "The little beast should take better care of her things. Hopefully she'll take the hint and leave." Rage was bubbling in Draco's stomach, his face going redder and redder as the others laughed. "Who knows!" Blaise chortled. "If we're lucky, she might even off herself!"
And that was when, in plain view of the whole Great Hall, Draco Malfoy yanked Blaise Zabini to his feet and belted him one across the face.
The night sky above the astronomy tower was navy and sprinkled with stars, laced with the remains of the evening's stormy clouds. The stonework was still damp from the rain, but Lavender paid it little mind; she could no longer bring herself to care about the state of her clothes or even her makeup, which was running down her face in steady black streams as she sobbed into her knees. So distraught was she that she didn't even realize she was no longer alone until she heard the newcomer clear his throat.
Hiccupping in surprise, she looked up. Professor Lupin looked back without a word. After a moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bar of chocolate, holding it out as if as a peace offering.
With a sigh, Lavender nodded, wiping her eyes. The teacher walked over to sit down beside her and unwrapped the bar, breaking it and handing half to her. In wordless unison they each ate a square.
As the professor snapped off another, Lavender swallowed. "…How did you know I'd be up here?" she managed thickly.
To her surprise, Lupin laughed. It was a very sad laugh, one that made her feel like crying all over again. "I don't know," the older werewolf admitted, shrugging his shoulders. "I just had a hunch." He glanced over and gave her a wry smile. "It's the best place to see the moon."
She sniffled and nodded, wiping her eyes again. She was sure she must look a mess. "Your friends are looking for you," the professor added. "They were terribly worried when you ran out."
"They should be more scared of finding me," she mumbled bitterly. "Who knows what I'll do? I'm a vicious monster, you know."
The professor sighed and didn't reply. For a while they sat in silence, until Lavender spoke up.
"That story," she said, voice barely more than a whisper. "When… when he… he started talking about the story. Right before he…"
Her voice broke, and she turned away. When her shoulders began to shake with silent sobs, the professor, uncertain of proper protocol in such a situation, rested a gentle hand on her shoulder and waited for her to collect herself. "H-how could they do that?" Lavender wept. "How could they think that after h-him, I'd ever– ever–"
"Shh. I know. It's alright." She dissolved again, and neither spoke again for several minutes until she got ahold of herself. "I told you before, Miss Brown," Lupin said quietly, as Lavender mopped at her eyes, "If you ever needed to talk, you have a listening ear."
"A-about anything?"
"About anything."
She seemed to be working up her nerve. At last, she managed to say, "Professor– on those nights–" Her breath caught, and he knew what she was trying to ask. "On those nights, do you–"
"I do," he interrupted gently, knowing how difficult it would be to finish. "We all do, Lavender; the cravings are a part of the disease. But," he added, when her expression crumbled, "they will grow easier to fight with time. We can't help what the disease makes us feel, but we can help what we do about it."
The girl looked away and stared at the ground for a long moment, so long he thought she wouldn't speak again. Then, he caught just the faintest breath of a whisper:
"…What if they're right?"
"Ah." He looked up to the moon, the stars. "You mean, what if we really are just vicious monsters?"
Lavender nodded, looking utterly miserable. He sighed, thinking about how to respond. When at last it came to him, he couldn't help but smile sadly.
"…When I was eight years old," he began at last, shifting his position against the wall, "I had my first encounter with a boggart." Lavender looked over, surprised; clearly, this was not what she had been expecting. "My father handled them, you see, for the Ministry. Kept them in the basement between transportations. Well, our basement wasn't just used for storage…"
He trailed off. She got the message. "Anyhow, I was curious. I wasn't usually allowed down there except for on full moons, and I'd certainly never seen a boggart before, for all I'd heard about them from my father. One day I got it into my head that I wanted to see one for myself. I thought, 'What is there to be scared of? After all, I'm a big bad werewolf, that boggart should be afraid of me!'" Lavender giggled. "At the time, the only 'greatest fear' I thought I had was the full moon itself, and I knew that boggarts didn't have the same powers as the real thing, so it wasn't like I was going to transform right there in the middle of the afternoon. So, I stole the key, unlocked the door, went down into the basement and opened the first trunk I saw.
"As you can imagine, that was a mistake. As I told you, I thought my greatest fear was the full moon… I was wrong. There was another fear, a deeper one, that I'd forgotten. You can imagine my shock when a full-grown, snarling werewolf jumped out of the trunk and backed me into a corner. By the time my father got down the stairs I was in a fit of screaming hysterics, terrified by a carbon-copy of the transformed Fenrir Greyback."
"He was the one who…?" Lavender whispered. Lupin nodded.
"Of course, I didn't know that at the time– I just recognized it as the werewolf that had attacked me as a boy. When my father had finally managed to calm me down, I asked him if that was what I looked like, when I transformed. And do you know what he said?"
"What?"
"He grew misty-eyed, shook his head and said more forcefully than I'd ever heard him, 'No, Remus, of course not. You're nothing like that monster: not now, not ever.'"
Lavender didn't speak.
"At the time I thought it was because I was smaller, just a pup. It wasn't until I was older that I finally understood. Lavender." She glanced up at him, and he looked back, hazel eyes very grave. "We are not monsters," he said firmly. "I know that sometimes, that is going to sound terribly hollow, but it's the truth. You are not a monster and you will never be a monster, not unless you choose it. And no one– not me, not Fenrir Greyback, not the people on the streets or the articles you read in the paper or the stories you hear– no one can make that decision for you, but you. Do you understand me?"
After a pause, she let out a shuddering breath and nodded. "Thank you, Professor."
"Of course." He stood and offered her a hand, which Lavender gratefully accepted. "Now let's get you out of the chill, hm?"
They walked together down the staircase to the warm hallway below, where Padma and Parvati Patil were waiting. "Oh, Lavender!" Parvati exclaimed, rushing forward to hug her friend. "We were so worried–"
"I'm alright," the blonde said with a watery smile. "Thanks for looking for me…"
"Of course we did!" Padma reassured her. "Don't worry about the cloak, Lav; we'll send it home to Mum, she'll make it good as new."
"Oh, Lavender, your makeup!" Parvati exclaimed, causing the werewolf to blush. "Let's get you cleaned up, come on. Thank you for finding her, Professor; we can take it from here."
He chuckled and nodded, watching Lavender's face grew more and more cheerful as her friends fussed over her clothes and her hair. Soon enough they were ushering her away in the direction of the nearest bathroom, and Remus, feeling his job was done, turned and headed back towards the Great Hall.
He didn't make it two corridors before he came face-to-face with Dora and McGonagall. "Did you find her?" the headmistress demanded.
"I did. She has her friends tending to her now."
McGonagall sighed. "Good."
The trio fell into silence. Remus felt his stomach knot. He knew what was coming.
"…Remus," Dora said at last. "The rain's stopped."
"Yes."
She opened her mouth, clearly hesitant, and he cut her off.
"It's time."
The dim light of the quarter-moon gave just the faintest outline over the edges of the small party gathered at the edge of the Dark Forest, but for Remus Lupin, it was more than enough.
For anyone else, the Forest would have been eerie in the daytime, let alone at night. A cold, stiff wind blew through the branches and rattled the dead leaves, the smell of autumn rot and decay permeating the air. Deep shadows swallowed up the trees and hid the scurrying creatures from their view.
But Remus was not anyone else. Quite the opposite, he had spent several months living in forests just like this one, and he instinctively knew this place as a second home, his territory. Someone had invaded his territory, and if they thought they were going to get away with it, they were sadly mistaken.
He could see the small team of aurors glancing at each other out of the corners of their eyes, clearly unnerved. Their discomfort only grew as he slipped off his shoes and socks, setting them to the side. "What are you doing?" one of them demanded, his voice jumping. He must have been new.
"I always hunt barefoot," he replied evenly, and had to force himself not to roll his eyes when the man made a vague choking noise. "Deer, Officer Payne."
"Right," the young man said hastily. "Right, of course. Obviously." Remus was pretty sure he heard Dora cough to hide her snort of laughter.
"Haywood, where did you find the bones?" she broke in, clearly not impressed by the young officer's unease.
"This way, Chief," said a redheaded man with a considerably calmer demeanor.
"Lead on."
They walked into the forest as one mass, wands drawn. Remus breathed in the air, eyes flicking left and right as he scanned for danger. Somewhere a thestral gave a screeching cry, and a wild owl took flight, but other than that there was no sound. Wet fallen leaves damped their footstep, and the whole world, to an ordinary man, would have seemed far too quiet.
But of course, Remus was not an ordinary man, and for that reason it was painfully obvious to him when he heard Officer Payne mumble to Officer Kopp, "I still don't understand why he has to come with…"
"Werewolves are nocturnal by nature," Remus replied for him, glancing back; everyone save Dora started to see that his eyes had gone a luminescent yellow. "I can see things in the darkness that you couldn't hope to catch by daylight."
"Besides," Dora added sharply, "We need him to identify the scent on the bones."
Remus shot her a frown. "You make it sound like I'm some sort of a bloodhound."
His wife winked, and he rolled his eyes again. "How far off are we, Haywood?"
"Not far. We'll just go 'round the barrier this way…"
Within a few minutes they came to a stop, standing in the middle of a relatively grassless place among the rippling roots of the ancient trees. "Watch your step," he called back, carefully navigating the unsteady ground to where Haywood indicated a small pile of bones, niched between the roots. "It was a lucky find," the auror added, as Remus crouched down low to the ground. "I could just as easily have never seen it."
"Hm. They probably didn't expect you to, or they would have buried it." He picked up one of the bones, examining it carefully. "Definitely rabbit. Three– no, four adults, some kits as well. Uncooked, too."
"They ate them raw?" said Payne shakily.
"Mm."
"Can you get a scent off them, Remus?" Dora asked.
The werewolf scooped up a handful of the larger bones, noting the sharp bite-marks in the hard outer shell. Lifting it to his nose, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.
–Shafts of bright moonlight split the room, gold eyes gleaming out of the darkness, and he screamed as a monstrous wolf leapt from the shadows–
–Everything in him was screaming at him to cower, to beg for mercy like the wretched dog he was, because he was weak, weak, a feeble little runt, a victim–
–"I WILL END YOU, LUPIN! I WILL RIP OUT YOUR THROAT AND CRUSH YOUR BONES! AND WHEN I'M DONE WITH YOU, I'LL GO AFTER YOUR PRECIOUS BITCH, TOO!"–
"Remus? Remus!"
It was Dora's voice that pulled him out of the torrent of memories, and he gasped, dropping the bones. He could hear whispers behind him, but he didn't care, couldn't care. He had thought he was safe, that his family was safe…
It took him a moment to steady himself. When at last he opened his eyes, he found Dora looking at him with concern. "It's him," he croaked, and then cleared his throat. "It's him," he continued, more formally. "Greyback."
Several of the aurors gasped. Dora swallowed. "And the others?"
Although reluctant to subject himself to the sense-memories again, he again lowered his head to the ground. Two more images filled his mind: one a brutal man with blazing red hair, the other a one-eyed, laughing figure, the word "mutt" accompanied by a sneer on his lips. "His betas, Brute and Cyclops. I don't know their real names."
"Is that all of them?"
"I- I think so-" He realized, belatedly, that he was shaking, and blood rushed to his cheeks. Dora's hand settled on his shoulder.
"That's alright," she reassured, "that's good for now, sweetheart." She nodded to the others, who took the hint and disapparated back to HQ.
Hand-in-hand, the pair walked back to the castle. When they reached the gate doors, Remus drew away. "Dora, I- I think I need to be alone for a while," he murmured. His heart was still pounding in his ears.
His wife pursed her lips, but nodded. "Okay." She touched his scarred cheek and kissed his forehead. "But if you need me, you know I'm here."
The man managed a nod for her sake before ambling off down the corridor, with no apparent direction in mind. Tonks sighed, watching him go, and then turned and headed for their apartment.
It was very late that night (or, rather, very early the next morning) that something roused Nymphadora Tonks from her slumber. She rolled over with a grown, feeling for the form of her husband, and, upon finding the bed still empty, opened her eyes.
She immediately shielded them, squinting in the brilliant light of the silvery-blue wolf patronus waiting at her bedside. "Remus?" she questioned, sitting up. The wolf didn't answer, and she got the feeling that it wasn't going to anytime soon. So, yawning, she stood and shrugged on her pink dressing gown, following the wolf out of the apartment.
The corridors were utterly deserted; at one point she saw the Fat Friar drift across a hallway of them, murmuring to himself in Latin, but nobody else crossed their paths. Eventually the wolf stopped before the door she'd been least likely to suspect: the trophy room.
The patronus vanished as she pushed the door open to find her husband sitting on the ground, barefoot and bathed in candlelight. He didn't look over even as she shut the door, but she knew he'd recognized her by the way his position shifted. She sat down beside him cross-legged, looking at what appeared to be a case of mementos from all the Hufflepuff Quidditch championships. And waited.
At long last, Remus drew a deep breath. "…When my father finally told me who it was that turned me," he began quietly, "I was furious with him. I stormed out of the house before he even had a chance to explain… refused to speak to him for months." He paused. "When finally Professor McGonagall talked some sense into me and got me to make up with him, I told him I wanted the full story. No details excluded. That was the first time I ever learned there was more of a connection between us than a mere confrontation in a courtroom."
"Because of Melion," Dora said softly.
"Among other reasons, yes." He stood and walked closer to the case, pressing his hands to the glass. Dora followed, tracing his gaze to a picture on the second shelf of the case. It was a black-and-white photograph, colored sepia by the dim light, featuring eleven students in Quidditch garb, a badger emblazoned on their chests. A young boy, the seeker, was cheering and holding up the Quidditch cup, but her eyes were drawn to the first beater's position, her own. Here, it was occupied by young man of about fourteen or fifteen on the left, with wavy brown hair and a wide grin. As she watched, he pumped his fist into the air and let out a silent whoop, and she smiled. At the bottom of the picture were the words, Inter-House Quidditch Champions, 1927-1928.
"Justus Lloyd was born on the 6th of January, 1909, in Llanbedrog, Wales," Remus recited beside her. "He was a Hufflepuff, and a beater, and apparently had a talent for transfiguration. He was my grandfather's best friend." He paused. "And, in the fall of 1928, he was attacked and killed by a werewolf, or so they claimed. His body was never found."
"He was one of Greyback's victims?"
"No," said Remus softly. "He is Greyback."
Dora stared. "What?"
"It's a common enough practice. His parents told the world he was dead, the Ministry registered it as such, and Justus was so disfigured by the attack that nobody would believe him when he told them the truth. Those who did told him to leave and never come back… my grandfather was among them." Remus shook his head. "He always said he should have killed Justus when he had the chance."
"Did you ever meet him?"
"My grandfather? Just once. My parents went to great lengths to make sure he wouldn't realize what I was. I even had to wear colored contacts." He smiled grimly. "We somehow managed to fool the last great werewolf hunter in Britain. I'll never understand it."
"I'm so sorry."
"Me?" He laughed without humor. "You feel sorry for me? I've had a good life, Dora; I had parents who loved me, friends who stood up for me, an actual education! A wife, a child. No, Dora, if you're going to feel sorry for anyone, feel sorry for that boy in the picture." The werewolf shook his head, bitter and angry. "The world hated him, so now he hates the world. And he's raised many like us to do the same."
"Why would they follow him? After what he's done to them?"
"He is a gifted leader," her husband replied with a shrug. "A man of two great virtues, and two only… justice and loyalty, or his twisted perversions of them." He paced away, turning his back to her. "He defends and protects his pack from any threat… to their life, or their way of life, there is no distinction to him."
"You broke the pack."
"I showed them another way."
"You did the right thing, Remus."
"Yes. And now he intends to make my family pay for it." His hands closed into shaking fists.
They elapsed into silence. At last, Dora let out a low sigh and walked over to him, resting a hand on her shoulder. The man turned to her, hazel eyes haunted.
"Dora, if it comes to it," he whispered hoarsely, "if he corners you, you give it to him. Don't hesitate."
"And what happens then?" she demanded. "Even if he does just let me go, which we both know isn't exactly in his character, how could I do that to my country?"
"Your life is worth more than that ring."
"Is it worth more than a war?"
Remus sighed again, knowing that he wasn't going to convince her, and kissed her forehead, breathing in her sweet scent. When he drew back, Dora reached up to a chain around her neck and drew it out from under her shirt. In her palm she cupped the small golden band at the end, the diamond on one end and the ruby on the other gleaming in the flickering candlelight. "So much trouble for such a small token," she whispered.
"If only it were just that."
He looked so wretched that Dora could do nothing more than follow her instincts. She pulled him into a tight embrace, felt the shaking hands on her shoulders. "It's going to be okay," she murmured, rubbing his back. "You married a big strong auror, remember? I can take care of myself."
"You shouldn't have to," he whispered.
"Hey." She drew away, cupping his face in her hands. "If I can help stop even one more person from having to go through what you do, you know I'd do it in a heartbeat. It's my job, remember?"
"I know. I just wish I hadn't dragged you into this."
"Well, it's a family affair. And now–" She kissed him on the lips, and he smiled despite himself. "–I'm family," she finished firmly. "Now how's about we get you upstairs, hm? Get some sleep?"
"That may be a good idea."
"No kidding." She tugged on his arm. "C'mon, before Teddy's old enough to sneak out of his own window."
He chuckled and followed her out of the room, shutting the door behind him. The candles flared and went out, shrouding the image of a young, laughing boy in darkness.
A/N: Aaaand another long wait for a long chapter! Not my favorite chapter to write, but I hope you liked it! Please do leave a comment; they really make my day! Also, if you'd like you can check out my side-stories that accompany this one, Faux Paw and Honesty. Pax et bonum!
