Remus

by Shunyata Ryuen

From a timid, friendless first-year to a master of Defense Against the Dark Arts: a chronicle of the life of Remus J. Lupin, from his first year at Hogwarts to his last (and beyond).

2. II Transformations

[Remus: Chapter 2]

II.  Transformations 

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, legs dangling limply over the side, when Sirius burst in.

Classes were over for the day, and despite the rumbling of his stomach, he was skipping dinner so as to be safely away from Hogwarts by the time the full moon slid into view.  Finding himself with twenty minutes before he was to report to Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing, he'd decided to return to the dormitory to gather some things.  A werewolf's sharp claws and teeth were a risk to cloth, but he liked to have his mother's quilt with him when he transformed; the floors were ice-cold to sleep on, and somehow, having the quilt with him made him feel as if he retained a sliver of his humanity.  It was wrapped around his shoulders now, warm like the arms of the woman who had made it, and he did not cast it off as the door swung open.

"Remus," Sirius gasped.

Carefully, he drew his gaze to the figure in the doorway.  It had been a little less than a month since he, Sirius, James, and Peter had become friends; in that short time, the four of them had grown extremely close, and although Remus was terrified to face the day when his secret would tear them apart, he couldn't help relishing the close relationship they shared. 

Armed with that friendship, he knew immediately that something had happened; Sirius stood there panting, bracing himself against the door frame.  His hair was messier than usual, hanging in uneven tangles that just brushed his shoulders, and his eyes were dark and wild. 

Frowning, Remus hopped down from the bed and took a step towards his friend.  "Sirius?  What's wrong?"

For a moment, he was truly afraid, certain that someone had died or been injured or something just as awful--but then Sirius managed to catch his breath, and as he did so, a wide and wicked grin spread over his lips. 

"It's Malfoy," he said joyously.  "He turned himself into a bloody toad!  He was trying to show off his transfiguration to those idiot goons of his at dinner, and it backfired."  Sirius laughed, bending at the waist and hugging his stomach, and Remus could only watch in astonishment; he couldn't remember ever having seen the other boy so out of control with mirth before. 

He opened his mouth to comment, a small smile tugging at his lips--but stopped, a new thought drawing an astonished frown onto his face.  In his startlement, he spoke the words instead of merely thinking them: "You...you came all the way up here so you could tell me that?"

The laughter faded off, and Sirius spent a moment blinking at him, a slight flush creeping into his cheeks.  Then he smiled, brushing a long strand of hair out of his eyes, and wrapped an affectionate arm around the smaller boy's neck.  "Sure I did," he said, still smiling.  "You're leaving soon to visit your mum, aren't you?"

"Y-Yeah.  In about ten minutes."

"Well," Sirius said, grinning and releasing him from the hasty embrace, "I couldn't let you leave without telling you about Malfoy, could I?  I'd never have forgiven myself."

Despite the little voice in his head warning that this could never last, that the moment Sirius found out that he was a werewolf he would flee in disgust and fear, Remus couldn't help but smile.  "Thanks," he said sincerely, giving himself one warm moment to pretend that this friendship would endure.  Then, imagining Lucius Malfoy's smug face small and green, he grinned.  "I wish I could've been there to see it."

"Oh, don't worry about that.  Robert Creevy was there."

Remus shook his head, uncomprehending.

"Robert's obsessed with photography," the taller boy explained.  "He also happens to think Malfoy's the biggest jerk in the school.  He got lots of pictures." 

~*~

He arrived at the hospital wing several minutes late, mainly because Sirius had insisted on walking him to the front entrance to "wait for his ride."  The other boy had wanted to stay there with him until that ride actually arrived, but Remus had at last managed to convince him that it wasn't necessary.  Now, he found himself out of breath and exhausted, having covered most of the distance between the entrance and the hospital wing at a careful but brisk walk; he had only one hour left before the night's transformation.

Madam Pomfrey wagged her finger at him as he skidded through the door.

"Mr. Lupin," she said with a hint of disapproval.  "I was afraid I was going to have to scour the castle for you.  Very well, are you ready?"

He nodded, his mother's quilt wrapped tight around his shoulders.

She studied him for a moment, disapproval fading to the expression she often assumed when looking at him:  motherly pity.  Oh, the poor little dear! her features seemed to cry.  So small, to have to go through this every month. 

He sighed and wondered if that growth spurt would be long in coming.

"All right, then," Madam Pomfrey continued, folding her hands onto her hips.  "You wait right here and I'll be back in a moment.  If I don't have my wand, that willow will whomp us into next week."

Remus gave a weary nod and sat down on a nearby bed.  It wasn't until Madam Pomfrey's footsteps had receded to almost nothing that he realized he was not alone.

There was a creak of mattress springs from a few beds down; startled, he turned in that direction, mentally scrambling to remember if Pomfrey had said anything that might clue whoever it was in to his secret . . .

He was just in time to watch a curtain, which had been ringing one of the beds towards the other end of the wing, slide back to admit the pale, smooth-featured face of Lucius Malfoy. 

Even over the distance that separated them, Remus could see that Malfoy was less than his usual confident self; his blond hair had been torn from its tie and hung messily around his face, and despite the boy apparently having completely regained human form, his skin still had a slight greenish tinge to it.  For a moment, they stared at each other.

Remembering Sirius' spirited telling of Malfoy's transformation, Remus couldn't help a small smile.  He was astonished when, "You're looking a little green, Lucius," murmured from his lips.

Malfoy's eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open comically.  "You .  . . you . . . Lupin, you--"

"Lucius Malfoy!" came Madam Pomfrey's sudden shout, ringing through the wing at several times its original volume.  "Are you still here?  I told you, there is nothing I can do to remove those warts until we get in another shipment of pokewood roots, so I'm afraid you will just have to live with them until then!"

Malfoy went an intriguing shade of pink, glaring at the woman as she bustled into view. 

"You had better not still be here when I get back," Pomfrey warned.  "Come, Lupin."

Hiding a smile beneath his hand, Remus hopped off the bed and started for the door.  Madam Pomfrey was already in the corridor and moving fast; he drew a deep breath and charged after her.  If the nurse maintained this pace, he thought darkly, there would be no reason for him to even bother trekking to the shack--he would be passed out for his entire transformation.

As he jogged down the hallway, holding the quilt in place with one hand while the other swung rhythmically at his side, he couldn't help thinking of his friends.  Often, in that glorious stretch of time after classes but before sunset, he would sit beneath a tree, a book cradled in his hands, and just watch them.  They raced from one end of the castle lawn to the other, tackling each other, racing, pitching various objects back and forth until their hands were raw.  He had longed more than once to be a part of their games, to not be so weak and frail--but he knew it was one wish that could never be granted. 

It was a side-effect, the specialists had said, of being so young when he was bitten; his body was incapable of handling the transformation properly at such an early stage of development, and as a result, there was a good chance he would always tire easily, would always be incapable of running very far, and might take twice as long to recover from illnesses as a normal person.  So far, the specialists had been correct on all counts; he only prayed that their last prediction, that he might be likely to die young as a result of his weakened state, would be the first to be proved wrong.

Pomfrey was far ahead of him and just about to vanish around a corner.  His lungs were already burning, the breath wheezing painfully through his throat; left with no other choice, he staggered to a halt and leaned against the wall.  Dizzy and out of breath, he closed his eyes.  It was a few minutes before he heard the rapid tap-tap-tap of Pomfrey's high-heeled boots returning. 

He wanted nothing more than to push back the fatigue and charge bravely onward, to sprint through the corridors like a normal eleven-year-old and leave Pomfrey gasping in his dust.  All he could do, however, was sink weakly to the floor, still not quite able to catch his breath, and fend off the waves of dizziness as they rolled over him. 

"Lupin?"  Pomfrey's purposeful footsteps slowed and finally stopped; he imagined her standing just a few feet down the corridor, hands on her hips, features screwed up in puzzlement.  "Lupin, where on earth did you--oh."  There was a slight pause; he didn't dare open his eyes, afraid the corridor would still be swaying wildly.  "Oh!" she cried suddenly.  "Right . . ."  Her voice, struggling between sternness and apology, came out sounding rather muddled.  "Right, Professor Dumbledore did mention something about you tiring easily as a result of . . . well, you know."  He heard a rustle of cloth very nearby, and a moment later caught a whiff of strong, musky perfume.  Something warm touched his cheek.  "Lupin.  Remus.  Can you hear me?"

He nodded, keeping his eyes shut tightly.  He could feel the dizziness passing, and his breathing had almost returned to normal, but he felt safer in the cool darkness.  He sincerely hoped Malfoy had not chosen this moment to leave the hospital wing; the Slytherins would be mocking him until he graduated if they found out how truly, pathetically weak he was.  He felt an angry prickle of tears against his eyelids, but fought them back with all his strength. 

"We--"  Pomfrey sounded a bit nervous.  "We really should get you to where you need to be going soon.  There isn't much time left.  And you know it takes at least thirty minutes to walk the tunnels--longer for you, I'd imagine."

With a small sigh, Remus opened his eyes.  She was right, of course, and no matter how desperately he would've liked to hide here beneath the darkness of his eyelids all night, praying that this time, this month, the moon would miraculously fail to affect him, he knew what needed to be done.  Stretching out an arm, he let himself be pulled to his feet by Madam Pomfrey, who was now peering at him as if she longed to burst into tears and hug him until the breath was squeezed from his body. 

Remus took a small and definite step away from her, wondering what it was about himself that could change such a stern woman into a teary nurturer.

"Do you feel up to walking?" she asked suddenly.  "I could draw up a stretcher if you need one.  Or--"  Her eyes twinkled.  "I could carry you."

Remus felt his cheeks warming.  "No," he said, somehow managing to keep his tone polite.  Dear God, what would the Slytherins think if they saw that??  "I can walk."

Pomfrey looked vaguely disappointed, but recovered quickly; with a tight smile, she started off down the corridor again, this time taking long, exaggeratedly-slow strides.  Fearing it might take all of the remaining hour to reach the Whomping Willow at this speed, Remus walked ahead of her and set a slightly quicker pace, which she had no choice but to subscribe to; about ten minutes later, they stood at the edge of the castle grounds, staring up at the quivering, swaying limbs of the Whomping Willow.  A few words and a swing of Madam Pomfrey's wand depressed the button that froze the tree into inactivity, and Remus started for the tunnel entrance.

Pomfrey caught his arm as he passed, sniffling and murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like "brave little soldier" before letting go.  Once she had, he crawled over a large root and slipped into the dark, depressing length of the tunnel.  He only barely reached the shack before he began to transform.

~*~

He didn't return to class until three days later.  During his time as a wolf, he had very nearly gnawed his right arm to the bone, and the rest of his body was covered with self-inflicted scrapes and bruises.  Due to the fact that he was still "visiting his mother," it was impossible for him to stay in the hospital wing to recover, and thus he was forced to spend that additional time in the shack.  Dumbledore stopped by to visit him every now and then, always bringing some food and a book from his private collection, and Madam Pomfrey visited even more frequently than that.   

Finally, however, he was declared well enough to return to class, and with one of the school coaches to drive him to the front door--as Dumbledore thought this would be less conspicuous, particularly if some student happened to witness his return--he found himself back at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It felt good, being back inside the castle, but he couldn't help but feel like something was missing.  It wasn't until he crawled back into Gryffindor tower and heard the laughter of James and Sirius echoing from upstairs that he realized why that was.

For the first time since the werewolf's bite two years earlier, he had friends--good friends--and like it or not, he had missed them.  With a genuine smile, Remus mounted the stairs to the dorm, slinging the slightly-tattered quilt over one shoulder, and started upwards. 

He had only made it about a third of the way up when something exploded.

The common room, which had been a bustle of talk and activity moments earlier, went so abruptly, chillingly silent that for a heart-stopping moment, Remus was sure he'd gone deaf.  Gradually, he became aware that he could hear--the echoes of the explosion, wherever and whatever it had been, were still ringing off distant hills, and very far away, he thought he could hear the sound of someone yelling, as well as the crash of crumbling stone.  And then the door several feet above him creaked open, and suddenly everyone was talking at once.

"What was that?"

"Do you think everyone's all right?"

"What if the castle's under siege??"

"I bet one of the Potions labs blew up!"

"Do you think classes will be cancelled?"

"What if they send us home before Ravenclaw match??"

Above the din, he heard Sirius' bellow:  "Remus!"

He turned slightly-dazed eyes upwards, and found Sirius and James beckoning him from the top of the stairs; numb and confused, he obeyed, and soon found himself standing between them in the boys' dormitory, the rapid jumble of voices swimming through his head.  He longed to clamp his hands over ears, to hush the world so he could focus, but at the same time,  he found himself strangely unable to speak or move.  Something was wrong, and although he didn't understand how, he could feel that it had to do with darkest of evils.  And if it had to do with evil, then there was a good chance that it had to do with...

"Voldemort."  The name slipped from his lips before he gave a thought to it; James' head jerked to look at him, eyes going wide, and even Sirius looked shocked.

"Wh--"  The two boys exchanged worried glances; James led him to the bed and urged him to sit down.  "What?"

"Voldemort," Remus repeated.  He felt strange.  There was a ringing in his ears, as if his eardrums were still recovering from the explosion, and a chill sweat had broken out on his skin.  "This . . . this is his doing.  I know it is."

A hand touched his forehead; he looked up to see Sirius standing just in front of him, the boy's fingers held lightly to his brow.  "You don't have a fever," he said, sounding puzzled.  "But you're all pale, and you're shivering.  James, get a blanket, would you?"

The dark-haired boy had just done so, drawing the comforter from his own bed and helping Sirius get it around Remus' shoulders, when they heard Professor McGonagall's sharp voice from downstairs.

"Quiet," she said.  "Quiet, everyone.  Is everyone down here?"  At that last, the three of them shuffled to the door and stared down; nearly every Gryffindor stood still and silent in the common room, their eyes locked on McGonagall's stern, abnormally-pale face.  "I am here to tell you all to please not panic.  There has been a minor accident in one of the downstairs labs--"

"I knew it!" one boy whispered loudly. 

"--but no one was badly injured, and we will be working on getting that lab rebuilt as soon as possible.  For now, however--"  Her voice went sharper than usual, and her eyes seemed to bore into each and every student individually.  "--I must ask that you all remain here, in the dormitory, and not venture outside for any reason.  We will alert you when it is safe to emerge.  Are there any questions?"

One girl raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Evans?"

"Professor, you...you said no one was badly injured."  The girl sounded a bit hesitant; her long red hair hung in tufts about her face, concealing most of it from view.  "Does that mean that...that someone was injured?"

McGonagall's eyes narrowed slightly--then she sighed, giving a slight and weary nod.  "Yes, Lily; unfortunately, there were a few injuries.  Professor Iodan was working next door at the time of the explosion, and was struck by a falling beam."  She cast a stern gaze at the assemblage, although none of them had said a word.  "But let me assure you, she will be fine.  She is in good hands, and Madam Pomfrey has every confidence that she'll be back to teaching Potions in no time at all.  Anything else?"

The same girl--Lily Evans, Remus pieced together--raised her hand again.

McGonagall cast her a level stare.  "Yes, Miss Evans?  What is it now?"

"Professor, what about...the other people who were injured?  I-It's just that you said there was more than one, and...well, Professor, were any students hurt?"

McGonagall frowned slightly, long fingers smoothing absently at her robes; then a look of grim acceptance came over her face, and she drew her eyes out over the crowd.

"Well," she said quietly, "I suppose you'd have all discovered this eventually, so there's no reason to withhold it from you now.  One student was injured, and I'm afraid...I'm afraid he was from Gryffindor house."

"Was??" someone shrieked in the sudden silence.  "I-Is he dead??"

McGonagall's mouth fell open; the Gryffindors all began talking at once, glancing around themselves as if trying to figure out who was missing--some of them were already in tears, and one girl promptly curled herself into a corner, knees to her chest, and started rocking.  Remus looked to Sirius and James in alarm, but before he could ask the question that was burning in his mind--Where's Peter?--McGonagall raised her wand, spoke an incantation, and a great whip-crack snapped through the room.

The students fell silent immediately.  With order restored, McGonagall cleared her throat.

"I apologize," she said in a loud voice.  "It was a poor choice of words.  No one has died, least of all a student.  The boy who was injured received nothing more severe than a slight burn to his arm--Madam Pomfrey will have him up and about within the hour.  Now, if you have no more questions--"  Her gaze flickered to Lily Evans, one slim eyebrow raising.  "--then I will return to where I can do some good.  Again, I must stress that none of you leave here in my absence.  The repercussions will be far greater than I wager any of you are willing to contend with."

And with that, she spun on her heel and marched from the room, somehow managing to retain her dignity while crawling out through the portrait hole.  There was silence for a long time after the door swung closed behind her.

As a few low murmurs of conversation started up, Sirius ushered the other two boys back into the room and pushed the door shut.  "There has to be more to this than just an accidental explosion in a Potions lab," the tall boy said quietly. 

James nodded.  "There must be," he agreed.  "There's no way McGonagall would keep us locked up like this if that was really all there was to it."  There was a slight pause, then James grinned and hurried back over to his bed, which he promptly began to dig beneath.  The question had barely formed on Remus' lips before he emerged again, a shiny square of cloth clutched in his fingers.  "Well," he said cheerily, "guess there's only one thing for us to do."

"Right," said Sirius with a tight grin.  "But do you really think all three of us are gonna fit under there?"

Despite the dark feelings still churning in his stomach, Remus eyed the shiny cloth curiously.  "What is it?"

James grinned proudly.  Before he would speak on it, however, he went from one end of the dormitory to the other, checking beneath beds and under blankets, and when that was done, insisted on hovering just beside Remus' ear.  "It's an invisibility cloak," he confided in a hushed voice.  "We found it the day after you left, stuffed behind a suit of armor in the third floor hallway."

Remus blinked.  "It was just lying there?"  The cloak, which now hung from James' fingers in long, glittering waves of fabric, smelled slightly musty, and unmistakably of cat hair.  Remus frowned.  "How do you know what it does?"

Exchanging a quick glance with Sirius, James winked and draped the cloak over his arm.  With nothing more dramatic than the hiss of the cloth sliding through the air, James' arm vanished from the elbow down.  Remus felt his mouth drop open. 

"Yeah," said James, grinning and tugging the cloak back from his arm.  "Sirius was carrying it like that down the hallway.  Just about had a heart attack when he looked down."

Sirius' cheeks went a little pink.  "Well, it's not everyday I look down and find my arm gone," he muttered.

"Anyway," James continued, still grinning, "that's when we figured out what it was.  We knew it had to have some kind of magical properties to it--people don't usually go around stashing normal old cloaks behind suits of armor.  And now that we know what it does . . . "  His blue eyes sparkled.  "Well, I say we do some exploring.  Find out what's really going on."

Sirius nodded.  "Right.  And if it was Peter . . . well, then maybe he can tell us something.  They're probably keeping him in the hospital wing until he--"

There was a sudden rattling sound from the door--Remus looked over just in time to see the knob starting to turn.  With a hiss of alarm, James sprinted across the room, vaulted over his bed, and slid out of view beneath it just as the door creaked open.

"Peter!" Sirius exclaimed.

Peter Pettigrew stepped wearily into the room, his face pale and his right arm circled in bandages.  Remus glanced at them only briefly--they were of Madam Pomfrey's design, and were always doused with whatever potion would best heal the patient's infirmaries.  He himself had only this morning taken the last one from his arm, leaving nothing but a thick, shiny scar near his elbow.

"Hi," Peter said tiredly.  His short brown hair was sticking up places, mostly towards the back, and the tips were black with soot.  He slid forward and collapsed onto his bed.  "You guys," he sighed, "will not believe what just happened to me."

~*~End Chapter Two~*~

Notes:

December 9, 2002:  Huuuuge thanks to the fifteen people who reviewed chapter one:  InchySquinchy, jesusfreak7777777, Wandering Nobodies, Vireco, Skittles, WildfireFriendship, elmtree, Purple Mouse (Mouse-chaaaaan! ^_~.), evil spapple pie, Kats, Yakyou, NuriKitsune, moi, Elkat, and Flying Heart!  Thanks so much; your reviews provided a lot of encouragement and have helped me to charge on forward so that I'm now about to the middle of chapter 4.  I'll be posting Chapter 3 in a few days, so keep a watch out! ^_~.  And now, here's a preview of that chapter:

~*~Chapter 3:  The Plight of the Werewolf~*~

He had been sitting curled in the chair, legs to his chest, arms wrapped around his knees--only now, too late, did he realize that that posture had drawn the right sleeve of his robe back to the elbow, revealing the patchwork of scars there that shone like silvery threads in the firelight.  Sirius was staring at those scars now, his eyes dark and startled, his mouth working without sound, and although of course the damage had already been done, Remus hurriedly pushed the sleeve back into place.

When Sirius finally spoke, his voice was very low, and oddly, tremulously calm.  "Who did that to you, Remus?"

~Ryuen