A/N: First off, I want to apologize for the shameless cliff-hanger last chapter. Secondly, I want to apologize for not posting this chapter a few days early to help alleviate the cliff-hanger stress. We're rapidly approaching the 1-year anniversary of this story, which is really exciting to me. Hopefully the ending of this chapter isn't quite so anxiety causing. Please read and review!
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Chapter 33: A Safe Place
Remus' first instinct had been to hide in the Forbidden Forest. He made his way to the Entrance Hall but as he swung open the door to the grounds he felt doubt creep in. Hagrid had found him hiding there once before, surely they'd look for him there again. It was also snowing and dark out already, not to mention the bitter cold—the werewolf didn't even have his outdoor cloak with him. He shut the door.
Not the Forbidden Forest then.
Without giving himself a chance to plan a proper course of action he began heading back up the stairs towards the Astronomy tower. Astronomy class wasn't until Wednesday night, so he knew it would be empty long enough to give him a chance to think.
Considering he was still recovering from the transformation, Remus was surprised that he managed to make it all the way to the tower without needing to stop to catch his breath. The small part of his mind that wasn't in full-blown panic mode helpfully supplied the one-word explanation: adrenaline.
As soon as he opened the door though, it became very apparent that at least two other students had had the same idea as him. The second he spotted the couple, he turned on his heel and hurried back down the stairs.
With his back-up plan destroyed (if it could be called a plan at all), Remus began circling the seventh floor restlessly, willing his brain to function semi-normally. It wasn't cooperating.
I need someplace safe, someplace no one can find me.
The dungeons? The Owlery? Those were both places he despised, so, theoretically, no one would look for him there (not right away at least); but they were both common places for students to visit. The werewolf nearly cried out in frustration as he looked around at his surroundings desperately.
His eyes were drawn to a door he hadn't noticed before.
For a moment he just stared at it, searching his memory of the castle for what it led to but nothing was coming up. It wasn't until he heard Mrs. Norris' loud and distinctively menacing purr echoing through the hall that he moved forward and slipped into the room, closing the door behind him.
Given his current luck, he half expected to find Snape standing there, or worse yet, the other Gryffindor boys, but the room was thankfully empty.
It was a strange room; small and dimly lit, there were drapes on the walls but no windows. It was also pleasantly warm despite the lack of an obvious heat source. The floor was covering in soft rugs and cushions but there was no furniture aside from a candelabra in one corner. It was perfect.
He held his breath and put his ear up against the door, waiting to hear the cat yowling on the other side but there was only silence. After a solid two minutes, he slid down into a crouch on the floor, sighing as he tilted his head back against the door.
For a moment, all he could do was breathe and stare blankly at the flickering candles. Then his arm started burning and he lifted it up to inspect it only to realize he was still clutching James' book on werewolves. His mind had become remarkably blank in his blind panic to get away, but as he looked at the book shaking in his hand, reality came crashing back down on him like a tidal wave.
They knew.
He was going to have to leave Hogwarts.
He'd only made it through a year and a half before he'd been caught. Looking back on it, he realized he was lucky to have made it that long even—he'd been so careless with his excuses: my mother's sick, my great uncle died, my cousin's getting married, I'm sick.
Remus let out a strange sound: it was somewhere between a laugh, an angry shout, and a sob. He threw the book into the middle of the room, curled forward, and wound his hands in his hair, tugging painfully.
How could I have been so stupid?
His mind was racing, trying to figure out what he should do next: I'll wait until the sun's up and slip away before everyone else is awake. And go where?I'll go to Hogsmeade—the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack goes underneath the Forbidden Forest, surely it can't be that far to run. And what will you do there? I'll find a way to connect to the Floo Network, I'll go home and never bother anyone ever again. And let down Dumbledore, your parents, and everyone else who has helped you get here?
Remus let out a frustrated moan and pulled his hair harder.
He couldn't leave Hogwarts: Dumbledore had put his job and his reputation on the line to allow him to stay and he couldn't bear to disappoint the Headmaster. But he knew he couldn't stay either, the Marauders wouldn't let him stay… Maybe if he could convince them that he wouldn't come near them ever again they wouldn't tell everyone about his lycanthropy. They could move his bed and all his possessions into the strange room he was currently in and they'd only ever have to see him during classes.
That could work, he thought. Pitiful wolf-like whimpers started bubbling out of him; he was too distraught to feel embarrassed or ashamed though.
That would neverwork. Three teenage boys could never keep quiet about a secret like that for six years.
Remus curled into an even tighter ball—part of him realized he would look completely deranged to anyone looking in.
Maybe it's not too late to obliviate their memories?
A memory charm seemed like the best solution; perhaps Professor Flitwick would be willing to help? If they'd known for a long time though, a memory charm might not be enough. How long had they known anyways?
Remus loosened his death grip on his hair and glanced up, focusing on the book now lying in the middle of the room.
How long had James had the book? He remembered the messy-haired boy receiving the quidditch book for his birthday last year. He'd read it during the first few weeks he had it, but it must have actually been a quidditch book back then; James had only recently picked it back up in the beginning of December.
A month? Remus felt his heart sink even further: James had known for a month. It seemed unlikely that even Professor Flitwick could remove a month's worth of memories without causing significant damage. Had Sirius known for a month as well then? Had Peter?
Suddenly, several pieces clicked together in Remus' mind: all three boys had been acting strangely after his transformation in December. They'd all known for over a month. They had all acted…
How had they acted?
For a moment he struggled to describe what their behaviour had been like, but when the word finally came to him, it nearly took his breath away: They had been concerned.
Not 'afraid for their lives' concerned, or even, 'we're sharing a dormitory with a monster' concerned; but genuine 'we hope you're alright' concern.
He tried to quash the glimmer of hope, insisting that he had just become delirious with hurt, but all the same, he crawled towards the book and picked it up with violently trembling hands.
James had been making several revisions it seemed, crossing out whole sections and scribbling "Rubbish" next to parts he didn't agree with and filling the margins with notes. For a moment Remus hoped the book wasn't from the library—Madam Pince would make him serve detention for a year if he tried to return it in its current state.
On a blank page in the back of the book, James had written down a series of dates set into chart of sorts—the first column listed individual days; the column next to it listed series of dates, sometimes they were very specific, other times the dates were vague. The second column had a few gaps in it, and Remus realized they coincided with Christmas in first year and the summer break. The chart tracked his disappearances and the dates of the full moon; the list was more detailed and accurate than he could've anticipated. He turned the page quickly, feeling his stomach twist at the sheer volume of evidence they'd gathered.
It seemed as though James had frequented the chapter titled "How to Identify a Werewolf" many times because the spine of the book on that section had been bent by use.
The first three quarters of the chapter went into great detail on how to distinguish a werewolf from a grey wolf, obviously that hadn't been what James was looking at though; there weren't any underlined parts and in the margin he'd only written one comment: "If it's a full moon, just assume every wolf you see is a werewolf". Remus couldn't help but chuckle weakly at the comment.
The final quarter of the chapter covered the ways to identify a werewolf in human form—James had made many notes and underlined key sections there.
"Identifying a werewolf in its human form is challenging as there is no way to distinguish them from other humans with certainty. The werewolf may have slightly wolfish features, depending on how long they've been infected. As the full moon approaches, they may demonstrate flu-like symptoms: fever, vomiting, exhaustion, pallor, etc. Werewolves often have multiple scars—the bite marks and scratches left by a werewolf (in both human and wolf form) are cursed wounds that are difficult to heal, even with the help of magical intervention. Unfortunately, these indicators often have alternative explanations: genetics, poor health, other injuries, etc. The only way to identify a suspected werewolf as such beyond a doubt is to hold them until the next full moon."
Remus sighed as he reread the first paragraph. The book was certainly more clinical and less inflammatory than any of the books he'd read on the subject of lycanthropy. James had made a note next to the "Werewolves often have multiple scars" line that simply said, "Sirius".
James and Sirius had both known for a while, but what about Peter? Then he remembered the strange conversation he'd had with the small boy on the day he left for the holidays.
"You're a very good friend to me," he'd said, "And nothing could ever change that…"
Peter had known too, he'd known and he hadn't turned away from him. James and Sirius hadn't turned away either. Part of Remus was filling up with so much happiness and hope that it was almost painful and the other part could only keep insisting that there had to be a trick somewhere.
He lay his head down on one of the cushions and began going through the book, page by page, reading only the notes his friend had made and ignoring the text; hope gradually overpowering doubt.
Eventually he dozed off, hugging the book to his chest.