I'm a werewolf. I'm going to change into a wolf. That sounds kind of cool, actually. I wonder what it'll be like to be a wolf. I like dogs. Uncle Jean has lots of dogs. He told me that dogs are just domesticated wolves. I'll be turning into something like a dog.
Mum and Da have fixed up the garage for my transformation. It looks really weird. They've moved everything above the rafters. It took them quite a while to spell everything up there. Mum laid out some old blankets that we use for picnics. It's the only soft place in the garage - everything else is hard concrete. She bought a dog dish, and put that out there too, filled with water.
It's getting close to time now. Just half an hour before moonrise. The nice lady from St. Mungo's said I shouldn't wear any clothes, because I'll just rip them up. I've been wearing nothing but my bathrobe for the last couple of hours. Mum and Da and I have been playing this new board game they got me this morning.
"Time to go to the garage, dear," says Mum. She says it as if it were no different than telling me it's time to go get ready for bed. That makes me feel like this is probably going to be all right. Da looks more worried, but then he always worries more than Mum.
I walk to the door to the garage.
"Oops," says Mum. "You forgot to take off your robe."
"No, I didn't," I say. "I'll take it off in the garage, and hand it back to Da through the door. I'm eight years old!"
I could tell Mum was suppressing a smile. Honestly, sometimes she still thinks I'm a baby. I'm too old to be naked in front of a girl!
I take one more look at the lunometer. Fifteen minutes to moonrise. I go into the garage, take off my bathrobe, and hand it back through the door.
It feels strange to be naked in the garage like this. The garage is perfectly comfortable, though. I pace around. I wish there were a lunometer in here. How long is it going to be before I transform?
They told me the transformation would hurt, probably as bad as when I broke my leg when I fell out of a tree when I was little. That scares me, but still, it's got to be cool to turn into a wolf. Right?
I'm pacing faster. The lady from St. Mungo's gave me breathing exercises to do for nervousness. I go sit cross-legged on the blankets. Count while breathing in and out. In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four... It helps a little, but I'm still hyper aware of every sensation, wondering if the transformation is starting yet.
Oh! I feel like I've been punched in the stomach. It feels like when I pulled out a loose tooth a while back, except it's not just one tooth, it's all of them at once. My skin feels like when I scrape my knee, except it's not just my knee, it's everywhere. I'm crying. I'm too old to cry, I'm eight years old. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.
Haze.
Hard. Scents. Move, move, move. Jump, snarl, tear, bite.
Haze.
I'm stretching again, too much, I can't stretch that much. It hurts. My teeth are being pulled again. It hurts. My skin is raw, like the worst sunburn I've ever had. It hurts, it hurts. I'm still crying, but now my throat hurts too.
Why is this taking so long? Am I a wolf yet?
Then, suddenly, it stops hurting.
Actually, though, there is still some pain. I feel sore all over, like when I've gone on a long hike with Mum and Da. And there's something wet on my arms and chest.
Oh, crap! I'm bleeding! I'm hurt! There are gashes on my chest, and is that a bite mark on my left arm? Now I remember. The lady from St. Mungo's said I might hurt myself when I turn into the wolf.
But does that mean I've already turned into the wolf, and now I'm back to being a boy again? There's light coming in through the garage windows, and I'm bleeding all over myself, so it must be true.
No fair! No fair! No fair! Now I'm crying with the sheer injustice of it all! I have to go through all this - every month - and I don't even get to remember being a wolf?!
I limp over to the door to the house, and start pounding on it. I don't remember what I'm supposed to do after I'm a boy again, but I want to get out of there. "Let me back in!" I yell, over and over, but it's not as loud as I can usually be, because my throat hurts.
Da comes to the door with my robe and stuff, but instead of letting me in, he comes into the garage with me. I notice that the blankets are scattered all over the garage now. He gathers them up in a pile again with a wave of his wand, and sits me down on them.
First he gives me a potion to drink. That helps the soreness and the pain from the gashes and bites. Then he dips a flannel into some water, and starts cleaning them, and putting some sort of salve on them.
"You're a very brave boy, Remus. You did very well. I'm proud of you," he says soothingly.
"No, I'm not," I say. "I cried." He must be able to see the tears on my face.
"There's nothing wrong with crying," he says. "It doesn't mean you're not brave." Da's eyes look watery now, and I wonder if he's going to cry. That scares me. We can't both cry, can we?
This is so weird. All the worst part is over, and most of the pain is gone, I'm just very, very tired and a little sore. But Da's holding me in his lap, and rocking me, and we're both crying. We're both crying.
And it's okay after all.
After a while, Da kisses me on the forehead, and helps me get into my robe. We go to the kitchen table, where Mum has some hot chocolate and biscuits. She looks calm and normal, which is a relief.
"So, young man, you've had quite an experience!" she says.
"Yeah," I say, and grimace. "But it's not fair. I can't even remember being a wolf!"
She sits down at the kitchen table with Da and me. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," she says. "Mediwitch Jones said you probably wouldn't, but I was hoping you might."
I smile up at her. "It's okay."
I manage to finish my hot chocolate and biscuits, but just barely. "I think I want to go to bed," I say.
Da picks me up, and carries me in his arms upstairs to my bedroom. I vaguely think that I'm really too old for him to be doing that, but it feels so comfortable and safe I don't really care.