The Wolf

Remus

Excitement fizzled in the air as I took in the massive Quidditch stadium. The summer sun burned overhead, making the golden stands and goalposts gleam. On my left, Peter was scanning over the crowds below us with blue eyes full of glee. On my right, James and Sirius were in a deep discussion about the strengths and weaknesses of each of the players. I still couldn't believe that James's parents had scored us all box seats at the biggest sporting event in wizarding history – the Quidditch World Cup. And even though I wasn't nearly as invested in Quidditch as my two friends, I couldn't keep a smile off my face. This day felt perfect – almost too good to be true.

As soon as the match began, I found it increasingly hard to focus. The sunlight was intensifying, making the players look like red and green flames. I rubbed my eyes, wondering if any of my friends had thought to bring sunglasses. To my surprise, their eyes were all following the Quaffle eagerly. No one else seemed to notice as the light grew stronger and stronger. I tried to ignore it, but watching the players soar over the bright grassy field became as uncomfortable as staring straight into the sun. Thinking that there must have been something wrong with me, I stood and retreated to the back of the box, where the light wasn't so strong.

Abruptly, heavy thunderclouds rolled in and cluttered around the sun. Dread consumed me as the cheery blue sky turned as black as night. Is that the moon...? A prickling sensation rippled through me, from my fingertips through my churning stomach, all the way to my toes. I took another shaky step back, but my limbs were freezing up. My heart began to thump against my ribs.

No, I thought numbly. This isn't happening. This isn't real. Stop!

It was no use. I could do nothing but watch as my limbs sprouted coarse gray-brown fur and lengthened into the wolf's. My mind remained intact, though, and the pain never came. I only felt mild discomfort, and my sense of panic was no less. This all confirmed my theory that I was dreaming, but it no matter how many times I shouted at myself to wake up, I couldn't break free.

Since I was young, I'd always tried to separate myself – the me that I was usually – from the wolf version of me. It was easy to equate the transformation to a form of possession, like "the wolf" was a malevolent demon that took a monthly excursion in my body. Once the transformation tore through whatever connected my mind to my body, it was easy to detach my human form from the ravenous monster that acted purely on instinct. That separation helped to imagine full moon nights as recurring nightmares that I could always wake up from to return to some form of normalcy.

When I transformed in my dreams, though, I kept my mind, so it was much more difficult to make that distinction. I could feel and think everything the wolf felt and thought – hunger, rage, loneliness – as sharply as I could feel emotions in my human form. Even worse were the conflicting desires that turned my dreaming mind into a war-zone. I could scream and fight those evil impulses all I wanted, but when it came to governing my actions, the wolf always won. And the wolf wanted blood.

My paw pads scuffed against the cool tile as they propelled me toward my next victims. At last, my friends' attention drifted from the game. (I supposed being charged by a werewolf could distract even the most avid Quidditch fans.) The three of them leaped up from their seats and gaped at me, but none of them drew their wands. Distressed, I shouted, "Kill me! Tie me up! Do something!" But my voice wasn't working. All that came out of me was an eager growl, a wolfish fragment of my plea: "Kill."

My friends did do something, at least. Peter ducked and hid behind his seat. Sirius drew his wand and began to raise it, but he stopped halfway, looking conflicted. And James, the brave idiot that he was, jumped over his seat to put himself in front of the other two. He held up his hands and cried, "Wait, Moony! It's us!"

I know that! I'm trying!

No matter how much I begged myself not to, I threw myself at James claws-first. We tumbled past the others and over the railing, landing in the empty stands below. In a pained daze, James remained lying on his back and groaning – utterly vulnerable.

I glimpsed my friend's terrified face as I lunged at him. Then his gut-wrenching screams were all I could hear. His pulse thumped frantically under my teeth; the taste of iron was so strong it burned. "Moony," James choked.

I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry—I can't—please don't die—no!

I woke like I'd been doused with ice water. For a few seconds, I was too frightened to move. Then reality thudded back. I was gazing at a dimly lit ceiling, with my nails digging into the carpet at my sides like I was pulling on the reigns of my dream-self. A wave of relief washed over my rigid body, and I loosened my grip. I closed my eyes and took slow breaths to calm the hammering in my chest.

The wolf is gone. Everyone is safe. Just breathe.

When I felt ready to open my eyes again, I could make out Sirius's face floating nearby in the semi-darkness. Behind him, a stream of moonlight filtered in through familiar embroidered curtains. My memories returned at once. Right. The Quidditch World Cup is tomorrow. We slept over at James's house.

As usual, rather than take three of the many spare rooms in the Potter's house, we'd all camped out on the floor of James's bedroom. Peter was curled up in a blanketed ball, snoring on the other side of the room. James was sprawled at the foot of his bed, with his glasses askew on his face. I almost smiled. James never slept with his glasses on. It was easy to imagine him whispering with Sirius about the game until the moment he'd drifted off.

It was also easy to imagine him screaming and begging me not to kill him.

I tore my eyes away from James's face. Sirius was still watching me silently. His gray eyes looked dark in the dim lighting.

"Are you okay?"

I nodded, but I felt like I was going to throw up. Images from the dream were returning in full force, making it hard to focus on the dark bedroom. I distracted myself by observing Sirius. He had crawled out of his makeshift bed to be closer to me. There was a bump in his shaggy hair on the side he'd been sleeping on. As I stared, the little line between his eyebrows deepened.

"You were mumbling in your sleep – and twitching a little."

"It's alright. It was just a nightmare."

"Do you have those kinds of nightmares a lot?"

Seeing me so distraught must have rattled him, I realized. I tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "I sometimes have them a few days before the full moon," I admitted.

"I've never noticed," he murmured uneasily, like it was a responsibility that he'd neglected.

Well, they're typically not as intense or realistic, I thought. The idea of going to the game tomorrow sent a shiver down my spine. Stop that, I told myself. The full moon is still three nights away. There's no reason to be afraid of a Quidditch match. Unfortunately, no amount of logic could chase away the disturbing images. I swallowed as the sickening feeling rushed over me again.

Sirius was frowning at me like he thought I was about to keel over. "I'm alright," I lied. "I just…need some water. B-be right back."

I slipped away without giving him a chance to respond; I'd become quite good at that over the years.

My legs trembled as I crept down the hallway to the bathroom. I closed the door behind me and splashed some icy water on my face. The brisk tingling sensation forced me to acknowledge how feverish I felt. For a little while, I clutched the edge of the sink with both hands and focused on my breathing.

"It was just a dream," I mumbled aloud. "The wolf is gone."

When I finally raised my eyes to the mirror, I wanted to scream. I looked pale and weary, with droplets of water clinging to my thin face, but that wasn't what had alarmed me. My eyes were bright yellow.

Instead of screaming, I went so still that I forgot to breathe. My predatory reflection gazed back at me, a perfect replica of my shock. I expected it to lunge or jeer at me, like the nightmarish vision that it was, but it remained frozen in place...just like me. My heart started thumping so hard it hurt. I closed my eyes again, determined not to lose what little composure I had left.

I'm still dreaming. This isn't real.

I tried with all my might to picture what my reflection should've looked like, as if I could will it into reality. Green, not yellow. Green. Green. I held my breath and checked the mirror again. My eyes were still yellow. Unsettled, I raised a shaky hand and pressed it against the glass. My traitorous reflection followed me in perfect time. "You're not real," I told it tensely.

Then I caught sight of my hand, and my stomach jolted again. I had claws. Well, they weren't claws exactly. My fingernails had thickened and grown out an inch, and they were black and pointed at the ends. But they were much too claw-like for comfort.

On instinct, I tensed, but the pain of the transformation never came. My eyes had changed color. My nails had sharpened. My heart was racing. My breathing was shallow. But I could still think. I was still me, as far as I could tell. The full moon was still three days away.

This isn't real. I'm not the wolf, I repeated to myself like a prayer, but I wasn't so sure anymore.

Unpleasant ideas began to surface. My dad had once told me that some werewolves deliberately take on wolfish appearances in their human forms. In recent years, there have been reports of such werewolves working for Voldemort's army; I'd seen pictures of them on wanted posters. They evidently used their condition as a form of intimidation.

My pulse rushed in my ears. Could I have done the same thing without meaning to…? What if it gets worse? How am I supposed to hide my condition like this? Will I have to leave Hogwarts? Will people think I'm working for Voldemort? Would they send me to Azkaban?

Without warning, the bathroom mirror splintered under my fingertips. Several pieces fell and shattered against the tile, and one Galleon-sized shard lodged itself in my palm. I lurched backwards with a stifled gasp. As I absorbed the mess I'd made, frustration and shame drowned out my fear. My magic hadn't acted on its own like that since before I'd gotten a wand. It wasn't supposed to do that...just like I wasn't supposed to have claws and yellow eyes right now.

What is wrong with me?

I removed the shard from my palm as carefully as my shaking hands allowed. Scarlet blood bubbled along the cut and spilled over in thin streams. I ran it under some water, wincing at the sting. Then a delayed jolt of fear turned my blood cold. I could feel pain.

That meant this wasn't a dream. The wolf was trying to take over – and it wasn't even the full moon.

I flinched as Sirius's voice drifted through the door. "Moony? You okay in there? I heard a crash."

I'm fine, I wanted to say, but I couldn't control my breathing enough to produce the words. In truth, I was the opposite of fine. I felt like the walls of the little bathroom were pressing in on me, suffocating me. I leaned my back against the wall and closed my eyes, trying desperately to collect myself.

"Moony?" Sirius called again. The worry in his voice was tangible.

Go away, I pleaded in my mind. I didn't want him to see me like this, especially since I had no way of telling what I – what the wolf – would do if I saw another person right now. A disturbing thought struck me, and I inspected my teeth with my tongue. My canines definitely felt longer and sharper than they should've. Oh, Merlin, no...

"I'm coming in," Sirius announced firmly.

Panicking, I sat on the floor, pulled my legs to my chest, and draped my arms over my knees so I could hide my face in them. I buried my claws in my fists just as the door creaked open.

For a long moment, Sirius was silent. Then I heard the door close, and my heart did a flip. Would Sirius have gone to get an adult? That didn't seem like his style, but given the scene he'd just walked in on, I thought it wasn't uncalled for. A second later, I heard soft footfalls on the tile, and I realized he hadn't left. He'd shut himself in with me – and he was coming closer. "Don't," I managed, still shielding my face.

Sirius paused again. Then he let out a little sigh and sat down with his back against the door, like he was joining me in some sort of vigil. "That bad, huh?" He asked softly.

"You should go," I told him numbly.

"Is that what you want?"

I should've said yes. That would've been the responsible thing to do. I didn't feel remotely inclined to harm Sirius, but given my unstable state, that could've changed in an instant. Anyway, hadn't I just been begging him not to come in? But I was too weak. Now that he was here sitting with me, the thought of being alone again made me feel even more frightened and helpless than before. I didn't want to confront this living nightmare on my own.

"No," I whispered, a little ashamed.

"Then I'm staying," Sirius said calmly.

Although I'd seen this side of Sirius before, I couldn't help but feel impressed by the way he was handling this situation. For all his childish antics, inappropriate jokes, and bullheaded mannerisms, Sirius had always been the first of my friends to pick up on my moods – and he was the best at pulling me out of the lower ones. "It's because we're the oldest," he'd said once – with a wink at James, who was only two weeks younger than me. I'd always had a feeling he'd been referring to a different kind of age.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

My throat tightened – this time, out of gratefulness rather than fear. His tone made it clear that I had the option to decline, and if I did, that line of questioning would end there. As someone who had grown accustomed to harboring secrets, I didn't take that kindness for granted. I gave myself another moment to breathe. When my pulse slowed to a less alarming pace, I confessed, "I don't think I can go to the Quidditch match tomorrow…and I don't think I can come back to Hogwarts either."

"Why not?"

This time, he couldn't keep the emotion from his voice. I tried not to wince as his shock and defiance struck me like a whip. I couldn't help but feel like I was hurting him somehow – like this whole situation was my fault. He's only worried about you. He's your friend, insisted a more sensible voice in my head. I found that idea more appealing than the last, but I didn't want to think about that either. Sirius was a good friend – all of my friends were – but everyone had their limits. I wasn't about to stroll into my fourth year sporting claws and fangs. And as open-minded as my friends had proven to be, I doubted they'd want to be associated with a yellow-eyed, clawed freak.

"I can't hide it anymore," I whispered, feeling my throat closing again. "I…I don't think I can pretend to be like everyone else when I'm…l-like this."

"What do you mean?"

I couldn't go on. Panic was crashing over me in waves. I curled in on myself even more, hardly noticing as my claws dug into the open wound in my palm. Am I going to be alone again? Will I have to be homeschooled? What's the point of learning magic if I can't blend in anymore? What am I going to do? What if I'm stuck like this forever? What if it gets worse?

"You're bleeding!"

I tensed as I acknowledged the warm liquid dripping from my fist. "It's fine," I mumbled, but I couldn't suppress a shiver. Oh, bugger, that feels like a lot…

Sirius leaped up faster than I could protest.

"Wait — don't!" I blurted as he shuffled through the cabinet over the sink. "I'm f-fine, really. You don't n-need to—"

"Remus. Shut up."

His stern tone combined with the use of my first name was enough to make me swallow my argument. I went rigid as he knelt in front of me. My face was still hidden in my arms, but I could feel his eyes digging into my skull. "Let me see your hand," he demanded.

"No," I said childishly. My heart was thumping in my throat, and desperate tears pricked at my eyes. As soon as he sees, he's going to run away. He's going to hate me. All of them will.

"Don't be stupid," he chided, though his voice lacked its usual edge. "It's going to get infected if you leave it like that. And you're going to get blood all over James's bathroom."

I felt a twinge of guilt, followed by a flicker of disgruntled admiration. Sirius could've been a lawyer for as well as he could exploit my weaknesses to argue with me. You can't hide it forever, added a knowing voice in the back of my head. Reluctantly, I held out my bleeding hand and lifted my head from my knees, just enough so that I could see his reaction.

At first, Sirius was so intent on cleaning and mending my palm that he didn't seem to notice any abnormalities. His eyebrows were knitted in concentration as he held my hand steady with one hand and dressed the wound with the other. When he was finished, he paused to inspect his craftsmanship. Then he froze, still clutching my shaking fingers. "Oh," he breathed.

On second thought, I realized I didn't want to see his reaction. I bowed my head and braced myself for the inevitable. It doesn't matter, I told myself glumly. I don't need friends. I should've never made friends in the first place. I should've listened to my parents. This was bound to happen eventually…

"Remus."

Sirius's tone was grim. I decided I didn't like it much when he used my real name.

"Whatever you're thinking, you'd better stop it right now."

Against my better judgement, I looked up. A pair of gray eyes glared back at me, as stubbornly as ever – even when I mirrored them with my own bright yellow ones. I swallowed, unsure what to say.

After a moment, the intensity of Sirius's gaze lessened. He sighed and smiled wryly. "Nail clippers were invented for a reason, you know. And your eyes look absolutely wicked like that. If anything, it's an improvement."

The knot in my gut unraveled slightly. I suppose as long as I keep my mind, I could work with this new look. I'm sure I could learn a spell to mask it, even. It isn't ideal, but hiding my true nature from people is nothing new. It's only a few extra steps. Maybe I don't have to leave Hogwarts yet.

I suddenly felt a bit silly. I'd been so alarmed by my new form – and frightened of losing my mind to the wolf – that such practical solutions hadn't even occurred to me. Feeling flushed, I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and mustered a feeble smile. "Sorry."

"You should be." I blinked, and Sirius's irritated frown deepened. "You thought I was going to leave," he grumbled.

I couldn't decide if he sounded more annoyed or disappointed with me. Either way, his tone made me feel ill again. "You can still leave, if you want to," I offered softly.

Sirius shoulder's stiffened, and his scowl turned to stone. I knew that confrontational stance too well — although it usually wasn't directed at me. He balled his hands into fists like he was going to hit me. Then he growled, "Give it a rest already! I hate when you get like this."

Something inside me shriveled, and hot shame flooded my face. "I'm sorry," I said again, lowering my eyes to the tile. "I shouldn't have made such a fuss."

As soon as I'd spoken, the anger had drained from Sirius. "That's not what I meant," he said with a grimace. He stopped and inhaled deeply. Then he grabbed my fingers again, squeezing so hard it hurt. "Moony, listen to me. James, Peter, and I – we're your friends. Friends don't wake up and suddenly decide to ditch each other. We're in this for the long run – we've been for four whole years! How long is it going to take to get that into your head?"

I felt like the room was spinning. That's why he's mad at me…?

My surprise seemed to egg him on again. "The only thing you should be apologizing for, you clueless git," he went on heatedly, "is for thinking that you're not worth giving the time of day! All the little things we do for you – looking after you when you feel like shit, checking on you every now and then – that's the bare minimum of what any real friend would do! And this project we've been working on, to make full moons better for you – it's our choice to take that extra step, because we've all decided that you're worth it! So do us a favor and stop acting like you're not!"

I stared at him in amazement, wondering for about the hundredth time in the past year what that extra step could be — not that it really mattered. Of course, I already knew that I had great friends. In theory, I shouldn't have doubted them. They were unusually faithful and stubborn, probably more than I deserved. But that was just it: I also knew myself. I knew what I was. I'd been taught all my life to expect hatred and prejudice, not friendship and kindness. And I didn't trust that my luck would hold forever.

"But I'm not worth all that," I found myself arguing quietly, in a matter-of-fact tone. "At worst, I'm a monster, and at best, I'm barely even a person. I'm technically not even human."

In the next instant, Sirius's expression struck me like never before. I felt like I was standing at the brink of a cliff, staring down into two pools of molten steel. The feeling was exhilarating, frightening, and oddly reassuring at the same time. It reminded me of the look James had given me in the beginning of second year, only twice as fierce. Angrier. Sterner. Older.

"Apart from one night a month, you're the most human person I know."

That strange and profound statement warranted a response, but I had nothing for it. After a moment, Sirius released my hand and asked calmly, "If it were me, would you do the same? If I fell ill once a month, would you come and visit me? And if there was a spell that could help me feel better, would you learn it?"

"Of course I would," I answered at once, "but—"

"It's that simple," Sirius interjected, like he knew I'd been about to say the exact opposite.

I sighed. "I don't know..."

"Well, I do know," he said briskly, "and it's not up for debate. Now, let's see what we can do about those claws."

A few hours later, I woke to a gentle tap on my shoulder. I blinked groggily at the ceiling of James's bedroom, still dimly lit by moonlight. When I turned, I was met with a wide grin that gleamed almost as much its owner's glasses. At the sight of James, a blurry image of his frightened expression from my nightmare rose from the fog in my mind. A jolt of panic launched me into a sitting position.

What happened…? When did I fall asleep?

James gave a dry chuckle. "Well, that was easy." He glanced over his shoulder at a very disgruntled-looking Sirius. "Why can't you be more like Moony? It took way more effort to wake you up."

"I hate getting up early," Sirius grumbled. When he met my eyes, the emotion behind his frown shifted. "And it doesn't count if you've startled him awake."

"What's going on?" I asked, bewildered.

"We have to leave soon. We're taking a Portkey at five, remember?" James raised his eyebrows. "You haven't forgotten about the Quidditch World Cup, have you?" He said it with such incredulity that one might think he was talking about breathing or eating.

"Oh. Right," I murmured, still struggling to recall which parts of this night were dreams or reality. Well, I definitely didn't murder James. But I'm pretty sure I had yellow eyes and claws. And Sirius…

The missing piece of my memory suddenly snapped into place. Sirius had helped me fix my wolfish features as much as he could've. There wasn't much we could've done about my eyes or teeth, short of researching appearance-masking spells in the Potter's library. But we'd agreed that such endeavors were better carried out by rested and ready minds, given that any mistakes on our part would be disastrous at worst, and at best would probably be much more conspicuous than an unusual eye color.

"Who knows?" Sirius had said through a yawn as we'd returned to our makeshift beds. "The nightmare probably just threw off your rhythm. I bet you'll be looking like yourself again by morning."

I traced my tongue over my teeth. By some miracle, they felt normal. I glanced at Sirius. Despite the circles under his eyes, he was alert enough to understand my request. He nodded slightly, and I let out a breath of relief. My eyes aren't yellow. Thank Merlin.

James was too caught up in my unsatisfactory response to pick up on our silent exchange. "You are going, right?" He demanded with a worried pout.

"Of course," I answered with a faint smile. "I wouldn't dream of missing it."

It doesn't matter, I decided as I watched James attempt to wake Peter. As much as I can help it, I won't let my condition govern my life. However difficult it becomes to hide it, I'll keep fighting back. And if I'm lucky, I won't have to fight alone...

I smirked as Peter burrowed further under his covers and Sirius began to throw pillows at him. But Peter merely snatched the ammunition away into his blanket-den. "Come on, Pete, I'm too tired for this," Sirius snapped.

It seemed James wasn't, though, because he tackled the lump of blankets and pillows and cheered loudly, "It's the Quidditch World Cup, Peter! Isn't the best day of your life worth waking up early for?"

Peter groaned and threw off his covers. "I think the best day of my life would involve a lot more sleeping," he complained.

"Box seats," James reminded him in a singsong tone. The eager glow in his eyes just couldn't be dimmed.

Peter smiled begrudgingly. "Yeah, I suppose it's worth it."

It will be a good day, I thought resolutely, and I will go back to Hogwarts, the wolf be damned. I won't let it get the best of me again.