Disclaimer: The following is not purely original fiction, but rather characters, settings, and situations as created by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made of this piece of fanfiction and can not be reproduced for any purposes but strictly private entertainment.
My loves, my dears, whom I abuse heartlessly and who still show their infinite kindness and patience by reviewing: Aliera, Allemande, Antares, Beidy, enoimreH, Flamewing, Hana-chan, Iggie, Laurus Nobilis, Lavander Ice, and Leila ShadowMirror. Hint, hint: now that I have finished chapter nine, probably the hardest of them all so far, the pressure is off and my selfish half might actually give me permission to do some – gasp – reviewing.
The token song is a bit off, I suppose, but I absolutely couldn't find one that fit better, although it much fits what little say Severus has in this chapter than Remus, although with enough thought it works. Truly. Trust me. I've been doing it. (And feel grateful that I did not fall back on the cliché stand-by "Bad Moon Rising", which was a temptation.)
Aliera, as I don't seem to remember if I replied to your review, a Talisman of Death's purpose was indirectly said in Chapter Four: The Question is Abruptly Answered, but, more directly, it quite simply causes instantaneous death if thrown about someone's neck. Which, I must say, makes Professor Avis sound rather careless, but her safety precautions were extremely well-prepared, and it was due to Stella's nearly crazy genius (which soon will be more crazy than genius; despite who that girl turns to be, I can't help loving and sympathising with her) that the said precautious were thwarted.
Demeter, the next chapter (Seven) is the one after your own heart. It's extremely heartening for me to say that it's even within sight of posting.
*slight sniffle* I don't deserve you guys.
Chapter Six – Happy Birthday, Remus
Day: 4 Month: 12 Year: 1976
It was the first and likely last time a student ever crossed the threshold of the hospital wing while Poppy Pomfrey reigned over it and was not immediately pounced upon by the matron with an instant health-related inquiry.
Had Remus not been so preoccupied, he would have been shocked. As it was, he barely registered it.
"Lupin." Madam Pomfrey stared at him a moment. "What did you do to your hair?"
He had cut it, that's what, not wanting to stay over at Arabella Figg's while looking like… well, looking like a teenaged werewolf neglected by his guardian uncle. He and Kebby had once attempted it themselves over the summer, but Richaden found out, and the punishment that followed convinced Remus that there were more prudent ways of going about it. Richaden pretended not to notice that his nephew came back every summer with hair roughly the same length as it had been when he left.
Granted, he hadn't the most level eye in the world. "It's not that uneven," he defended, a little more testily than he intended. Luckily, he knew from experience that by two weeks it would have grown in enough to not be terribly noticeable.
Madam Pomfrey examined it a moment longer before snapping back to her regular concerns. "What's the matter?" Her hand was on his forehead within a matter of seconds, before he could properly reply, and she almost looked disappointed he hadn't a fever.
"Nothing much, really, I'm just tired and my stomach is upset." It wasn't a lie, it wasn't a lie, it wasn't a lie… "Could I just get a bit of a lie-in? I'll probably be fine for next class –" He had been forced into a bed before he finished speaking.
"Rest," Madam Pomfrey ordered firmly. "No need for any complications tonight."
Remus closed his eyes instantly with a small sigh but didn't sleep. He felt guilty as sin. Just for starters, he had no right to get irritated by Madam Pomfrey's fussing and over-boardness when he took advantage of it like this. And he had taken advantage of it – he had known very well that if he said he wasn't feeling quite right just hours before a full moon, Madam Pomfrey would be writing him a note out of class before you could say "Herbology". If he hated special attention, there was definitely a kink in the moral virtues of using it when it wasn't really needed.
He almost considering backing out, telling Madam Pomfrey it was really nothing and hurrying to the greenhouses… but he'd be late, and he'd have interrupted Madam Pomfrey from her work unnecessarily, and it would be too awkward to explain – no, it was easier just to take his three-fourths of an hour and be on guard that it didn't become a habit.
And anyway, if not physically, he was definitely not in the best of emotional health. To be sure, he was a wreck.
Too dangerous, too dangerous, too dangerous… too bloody risky. Why had he ever agreed to such a ridiculous scheme? Oh, Sirius had assured all week it would be fine – he'd make sure Remus didn't attack James or Peter, Sirius would tire him out so he'd sleep off the night, no one would be any the worse and Remus much the better for not trying to destroy himself. Sirius was such a dreamer. He had said no one would get caught the time with Katya Peterson's dormitory, too…
And he, Remus, had been stupid to believe him, to indulge in any such fantasies. He ought to have faced the hard truth – every month for the rest of his life there would be one long night where he would endure something he'd rather not, and after the ordeal there would be care and concern from friends and supporters, and there would be a normal, enjoyable life to lead, which was probably more than he deserved, seeing as how he was so bloody foolish, but he would have to deal with the nightmare. By himself. No way to lessen it.
Instead he had opted for wistful thinking, and it wasn't only him who would pay the price for his fantasies – it would be his three friends, tonight. He had tried to talk them out of it all week, and they had told him right back, in varying degrees of severity, to shut up and stop worrying. They didn't get it. They saw their good buddy and partner-in-crime Remus leave for an evening, pale and barely suppressing his trembling but otherwise fine, and they saw him the next morning, wounded and ill and battered and exhausted, and since they had never seen what was in between, they just weren't making the connection.
Conceivably, he could kill them.
And although this possibility was the worst, it was only the beginning. He thought of their family and friends, and at their loss. And there was kind, understanding Dumbledore, who had offered him trust no one else had – it would be a scandal that would never quiet down, Albus Dumbledore admitting a werewolf who then killed three students. The headmaster's well-deserved reputation of integrity would be destroyed and career blown to nothing. A nice way for Remus to repay him.
And then there would be the several generations of students left who should have known and been helped by him, who would never know Dumbledore personally. Not to mention that if Remus failed, killed someone, he had ruined the chance for anyone else, werewolves or other questionable children, to attend a school – to have gotten the same things, friends and a social life and skills needed for a somewhat normal life, as he had received. And thrown away.
He groaned involuntarily. He was such a cowardly bastard. If he had just accepted the reality instead of all the wishful thinking, then he wouldn't have dragged in all these other people. And he still could, if he could put his foot down and faced his friends. How, oh, how had he become a Gryffindor?
"Are you all right?"
Remus shook himself out of his cheerful speculation blearily. "Hmm? Oh – yes, I'm fine." And to top it all, he lied naturally, without the barest hint of second thoughts.
"You didn't sound it."
"No, really, I'm all right. I wasn't sleeping well, I guess. What time is it?"
It was twenty minutes into Charms. Apart from this being one of his favourite classes, Remus was angry with Madam Pomfrey for not waking it and insisted on leaving immediately. Madam Pomfrey, in turn, insisted on taking his temperature and having him drink some sort of potion and some water before he left, and "Since it's an early moonrise, come here directly after your last class, all right?"
No, he was thinking more along the lines of just loitering around corridors until the moon rose, he thought with uncharitable sarcasm.
*
Severus, never being the type to put off until tomorrow what you could do today, dropped Liqumbaug's book off on his way to Transfiguration. It hadn't been much help, and he was grateful Liqumbaug didn't have the chance to question him about it. There was no time period for when you would die if you saw a Grim – "sometime shortly in the future", yes, they said that, but Severus didn't think it counted.
It was rather stupid. Everyone died at some point. Even the Dark Lord, despite Christoph's assurances that he was planning to live forever, would die at some point. To make life simpler, hopefully sooner rather than later…
There were just a bunch of imbeciles with too much time on their hands trying to get other people worked up and over-anxious. The dumb black beast near the Quidditch field a couple days ago didn't have an idea of when Severus was going to die better than anyone else did. Including, although he was loathe to admit it, Severus.
*
The last class of the day was Potions, and for the first time in anyone's memory, Professor Ellicha kept them until the last moment. The stress of O.W.L.s was getting to everyone, teachers and students, and even the careless Ellicha.
Remus slipped off to the hospital wing with his heart pounding, always hoping no one would take too much of an interest. He only took the small chance of whispering to James that "it" was early tonight, and could he please tell Snape he couldn't practice tomorrow? James listened, nodded, and gave him an encouraging smile that Remus was grateful for but not very benefited by.
To get to the Asher house in time (and especially give Madam Pomfrey enough time to run back all the way through the tunnel), they would have to leave before dinner. It was risky; students would see them and wonder, but it was far more dangerous to take the jeopardy of having him transform before he was safely isolated.
Madam Pomfrey was having none of the idea of letting him go without rest. She insisted on giving him a mild Sleeping Draught. Unfortunately, his nerves were so out of whack that while he was drowsy, he only slept lightly and fitfully; the Draught didn't have a lot of effect. It did, however, have him so bleary that he couldn't think very much, so his worries didn't get to speak up too loudly.
He was in one of his restless mini-naps when he heard a familiar wheedling voice and a familiar stern, no-nonsense one, but was so in a haze that he couldn't place them. He did remember the full moon and glanced at the clock. The time suggested he prepare to leave soon.
"No, Black, I don't want him to waken just yet!" Madam Pomfrey hissed, exasperated, her irritation coming clear from the curtains that hid him from prying and gossiping eyes of his peers.
"Too late," he murmured aloud, before realising that Sirius was here – well, he almost always was; Sirius was always trying to visit him to give him one last goodbye, and the first hallo. "Sirius?"
"See? He's up!" Sirius said triumphantly.
Remus was actually teary-voiced as he begged Madam Pomfrey to allow him to talk with Sirius for a few moments, and she gave in – "But make it quick, boys."
Sirius would start worrying at any reasonable opportunity and a few that weren't, and clearly saw how shaken Remus was. "What's wrong, Remus?"
"Don't do it, Sirius, please don't do it," Remus pleaded. Nerves shot and mind still foggy from the Draught, he sounded rather pathetic and very close to crying.
Sirius's mouth tightened, his eyes rolled, and he smiled patiently. "Remus, we told you, it's going to be fine."
"No, Sirius, no, it's not –" Remus wished desperately they could talk freely, but Madam Pomfrey was within clear earshot.
"Listen, there's nothing to worry about. Don't you trust me yet? Come on, up you go. What'd Pomfrey give you – can you stand?"
With Sirius's assistance, he soon could, but refused to drop the matter. "Please no, it's just not safe, Sirius, please."
"Here're your robes, get ready now – Remus, Remus, stop shaking like that, have I ever let you down before?"
No, Sirius never had. Somehow or another, he never did.
"Doesn't it always turn out all right – well, semi-all right?"
Remus nodded tightly, figuring this was a bad time to bring up Katya Peterson's dormitory raid. "But – "
"Okay, there's Madam Pomfrey coughing as loudly as possible to hint I should get out of here and let you two get ready, and since I value my life, I think I will – listen, Remus, nothing to worry about, all right?"
The reply was a sleepy and exasperated snort.
"Right now." Sirius gave his friend a reassuring arm around his shoulders for a moment before Madam Pomfrey said: "Right now, Black," in agreement.
"Sirius…"
"Happy birthday, Remus," Sirius called over his shoulder. "Belated presents later, remember? Keep looking forward to it." Remus got the point and borrowed bits of Sirius's vocabulary to express his feelings of the occasion.
Remus told himself that if they were even alive after this night, he was going to kill Sirius. He pulled on his regular school robes and shoes, so as not to arouse suspicion, with a feeling of heavy dread, listened to check the wing was empty, and found Madam Pomfrey zippering her rough beige shoulder bag. She straightened when she saw him and slung it on.
"Are you ready, Remus?" she asked, with the gentleness in her voice Remus only heard this time of the month.
He detested that question; one was never ready for this. But since of course he preferred going to the Shrieking Shack as compared to any possible alternative, he only nodded.
Madam Pomfrey continued to send him concerned glances as they walked to and through the entrance thing, doubtless having heard Remus's near-breakdown with Sirius, but Remus, feeling the sort of blankness that comes when you have no choice but to sit back and let fate run its course, neither cried, stumbled, hesitated, or collapsed, just kept up his stride and considered telling her all about the Animagi deal.
But he couldn't. The possibility of the four of them being in serious trouble was a very real scenario to Remus's mind, while the possibilities he had spent weeks worrying about now, while terrible, were hard to grasp. This is a natural defence mechanism of the human mind, to not believe the worst will happen even while you consider it, and in some cases, it helps one a great deal.
However, the night was young. There was no time yet to determine whether the instinct was right or wrong in this case.
*
James Potter was making his way to the Slytherin table, stoically, face blank at the incredulous stares of three Houses and the hateful stares of other.
Severus grimaced. Potter couldn't be coming to talk to him, he just couldn't. The school would have a speculation session of the decade – Severus Snape working with one Gryffindor and having others have voluntary and public conversations with him over dinner.
Naturally, Potter walked straight to him. "Snape."
"Present and accounted for."
Potter raised an eyebrow but continued: "Remus wanted me to tell you that he won't be able to practice with you tomorrow."
Why not? Severus wondered instantly, but, as usual, didn't ask aloud. Instead, "How many relatives does he have left to die?"
"Shut it, Snape, he's ill, that's all."
"You'd think he'd be immune to most things by now. He had better not be pulling one of these for the actual Duels."
"Well, he's going to try and time these sorts of things around that date, don't worry," Potter grinned sarcastically. It was annoying how Potter always tried to crack jokes around him, as if he was expecting Severus to burst out laughing one day and for them to unite in amusement, never to share enmity again. Of course, with Potter's ego, this Miracle Joke was going to come from Potter's mouth.
"Can I eat in peace now?"
Severus was pleased to see that Potter looked rather defeated as he headed back to the Gryffindor table.
*
"This looks too thin…" Madam Pomfrey murmured, pulling the tattered nightshirt Remus wore during the full moon out of her bag. "Aren't you going to be cold?"
Remus knew she would ask that again and again if you told her the automatic lie of "No, I'll be fine", so by now he would tell her the truth: "For a little while, but I'm warm enough after the transformation."
She sighed as she handed it to him, as if she had not heard this for the past four winters. There was nothing he could say to that. He was aware that the garment was so worn that he might as well have been naked, but it was the principal of the thing. Uncle Richaden always ordered him to undress before moonrise, but here, away from his insistence, Remus of course had to defy him, whether Uncle Richaden knew it or not – it was adolescence. Besides, it was also his last cling to saneness and humanity before the nightmare began and ripped every last shred of pride from him.
So he went to the next room to quickly change, and then folded his robes into Madam Pomfrey's bag, on top of his shoes and socks, and tried not to let the nurse see his shivering in the bitter December air.
She was fussing, as usual, reluctant to leave until she absolutely had to.
"Some of this furniture is hazardous," she decreed disapprovingly, running her fingers along the corner of a table. "You might poke your eye out on this…"
Oh, thanks, Madam Pomfrey, give me something new to worry about. He didn't voice this thought, of course, and she didn't expect him to speak anyway. She did expect him to hold still while she checked his temperature again (for what reason, Remus did not know), to tell her if he felt anything was abnormal (not that there was anything to do about it at this time), and to go immediately to one of the rooms upstairs, the one with the canopied bed, and to get under the covers until the moon rose so he could stay warm (Remus obeyed for purposes of getting her out of there).
Finally, she left, with a few more orders and pats of his head, and after he had gone upstairs and was supposedly in bed. "She's so fussy," Remus said aloud to no one in particular, probably to hide the fact that secretly he almost liked the fussiness. The treatment here and at Lupin Manor was a sharp contrast – but he oughtn't be so silly.
Now that Madam Pomfrey was gone, the worries about tonight returned full force. He climbed back downstairs – once he had charged down the stairs as a werewolf so ruthlessly that he had tripped, hit his head, and received bruises that lasted for weeks. Likewise, he did not seek the comfort of sitting or curling up on the floor for warmth.
He preferred to stand. It came back to the pride thing, but it also went slightly deeper than that – he wanted to face the ordeal standing, as if meeting the invisible force or spirit that was the bloodthirsty wolf that would inhabit him on his own two feet, and his own terms, at least as many terms as he had.
Of course, he knew there were many – he had met many – who would tell him the force or spirit was not from outside, but from inside, hidden inside him under the cover of a normal-looking person. He pushed those reminders from his mind. The whole standing-to-meet-the-transformation was a mind game, and he knew it, but he'd take anything, anything to help.
Including, his nasally voiced little conscience spoke up, other's lives.
"I know, I know, and I have enough guilt without you," Remus snapped to his conscience, rubbing at the goose bumps on his arm and speaking through chattering teeth. "So shut up."
*
Slytherins were known for ambition. If cheating helped, then there was nothing wrong with that, for the ends justified the means. And sometimes, the means justified the ends whenever a belated conscience awoke and tried to scold.
But in this matter, they were concerns with the means of getting Cletus to pass his O.W.L.s.
"It won't be hard to get a hold of Ellicha's," Evan offered lazily, from behind the brand-new copy of Witch Weekly. As it was the December issue, it was sparkly, thicker than normal, and jam-packed with advertisements. Ellie Willinstock was posing for most of them. She was a second cousin of Alexandra Donnellson, the one Gryffindor most of them wouldn't mind going out with, and was the most popular model of the time.
"I don't need Ellicha's; Sev has been helping me," Cletus whined. "I need Transfiguration and Defence."
"You picked the two teachers to try steal off of, haven't you?" Severus snapped impatiently, knowing very well whom the burden of tricking Liqumbaug and McGonagall would fall to.
"Blame them," Cletus grimaced.
*
Luckily the Asher house had been reinforced with protective charms, because the werewolf was doing every thing possible to send them down. This resulted in the fact that he was now in possession of a shoulder that was halfway detached from the socket. Considering that he was scampering around on a fourth of the weight of that shoulder, it was more than a little uncomfortable.
That's why Remus was half snarling and half whimpering when keen senses suddenly picked up something quite unusual. Just the simple fact that there was something else alive in there… the werewolf wasn't used to company. But he didn't wait too long to ponder. There was blood. Finally. Finally…
The small part of his brain that was still vaguely Remus, although it had no control, moaned and screamed and tried to struggle. It was James and Sirius and Peter. It had to be –
He scurried down to meet them, for two different reasons, but the stronger one was not in the mood for friendly entertainment of guests. He clawed at the door as it was nudged open from the other side. Sensing blood quite within reach, he turned sharply and pounced –
Something clamped hard around his neck, restraining him with cushioned but strong paws. Remus struggled and flailed and snapped to get at the blood, but to little avail.
His opponent seemed wary of actually fighting him; the werewolf, sensing this, tried furiously to capatilise on this advantage. But the other canine would quickly dart ahead of him, blocking his path, fending him off –
Annoyed jaws came down on the black dog, which tried to back away sharply, with the air of someone who only now is beginning to feel panic. Then he seemed to remember he had others to protect, and that he had promised to deal with it. Decidedly, he stayed under the werewolf's wrath, amidst heavily snarling and a rat's squeaks of terror at his friends' circumstances.
It seemed to last a frighteningly long time for everyone involved except the werewolf, to whom it was only seconds. In reality, it was only about two minutes, but they were probably endless to the terrified dog, who was submitting to being scratched and having fur skinned off by werewolf teeth. Finally, he could take no more and let out a long, low whine.
Something about the noise caught the werewolf's ear, and it awakened a sense of identity. Abruptly, Remus stopped tearing madly at Sirius but instead stared at him a moment as if he couldn't place him. Peter squeaked hopefully.
With a small whine of his own, of regret, Remus started to lick and clean the wounds he had given his friend.
*
The world's unfairness could be shown the list of subscribers to the Daily Prophet. There was Christoph Wilkes, who could care less about it, but whose parents sent it to him anyway, even though they could barely afford it. And then there was Severus Snape, not on the list, who would have devoured each issue with a sharp eye.
So therefore Christoph would never noticed if Severus borrowed his.
Severus found he couldn't sleep, which wasn't unusual. Sometimes trying to sleep was a losing battle, and Severus never fought that sort. Reading material was invented purely for nights like these.
And then he was bothered, because of every article in the paper, there was only one that made little sense to him on the chessboard of wizarding politics in war.
Body Found In Salazar's Cave Is Identified
This bizarre story has had the Ministry of Magic on its toes for the past forty-eight hours. It appeared at first to be a simple murder of a woman in her late twenties. The mystery girl was found bloody, unconscious, and severely dead the morning of 1 December by two children playing outside in the snow.
Medi-wizards who first arrived on the scene proclaimed it as a death brought about by intention, as evident by the blunt impacts upon her skull. The question of who she was, and why she was dead, was immediately looked into. When no one claimed her after twenty-four hours, more experts were brought in.
The question of the death seemed more in reach when Klaus Chandler of the Ministry of Magic, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, confirmed she was in fact a werewolf. It seemed likely, Boris Slid of the same department said, that she had either been killed or had committed suicide.
Chandler spoke up before the case lost its urgency. "Miss Gina Vendutti was always quite rational minded. I find it unlikely she would kill herself, especially as she seemed in good spirits during her last appointment with me. Furthermore, someone took a great deal of time to kill her the hard way. She was not murdered instantly. The marks were made within hours of each other."
What anyone would possibly want to torture Vendutti for was uncertain. Residents of Salazar's Cave and surrounding villages were questioned, and no one recalled seeing Vendutti. Vendutti has never attacked any human after fourteen years of lycanthropy, and Chandler's examination proved nor had she since her last check-in with the Werewolf Registry.
The one lead the M.O.M. does have is exclusively known only to the Daily Prophet. A Law Enforcement Officer who wishes to remain anonymous pulled over your reporter in the middle of the melee that Vendutti (WR02387) had been carrying one parcel. Wrapped inside plain parchment was a miniature ring circlet of red and a note. The nature of the note was not revealed; however, the package was addressed, quite simply, to one called "Jobey".
Severus frowned thoughtfully as he re-read this. He wished he had been able to read all the facts before they were shifted through the Daily Prophet filter. It was indeed a little odd. Even a werewolf probably wouldn't take their life for something trivial, and why one would take so long killing Vendutti – whether they knew her as a dangerous werewolf or a harmless twenty-some witch – was a mystery. And things that were "a little odd" often spelt something that had seven letters and began with a "T".
*
The plan had been to tire Remus out. But like most plans, it wasn't working very well.
The werewolf had been soothed of its all-consuming hunger and rage, but it was still restless and upset aplenty. He showed deep remorse after his attack on Sirius; he had whined and helped Sirius every way possible and hung his head, but the sorrow was being shaken off. The werewolf had a lot of energy.
Quite luckily, that was a Marauder sort of trait, and the night was spent rowdily, with chases and tags and general overturning of everything they could find. And the amazing part was, Remus didn't need to be knocked out. Somehow, he was aware of his friends, and thus aware of himself. It allowed him to have much greater control over his actions.
Yet freedom came not only from the loss of the wolf's control, but from the fact the wolf's influence did remain. Remus had never felt this… this reckless in a long time.
All sorts of worries evaporated. The wolf wasn't interested, and even had he been, couldn't process them. With the cautious side of Remus canceled out, only rough exhilaration was left. And they were making the most of it.
A similar effect had taken over the other three boys, leaving only innocence. War was far off tonight. Right now, there was play and adrenaline, and everyone was enjoying it.
In fact, when Remus began to feel the familiar burning pain that signaled that his time as a wolf was shortly to end, he felt… disappointed? Good grief –
There was no time to reflect on it; the change had begun. Remus couldn't help but cry out as, slowly, every bone in his body began to break and then warp itself into a new shape before re-molding; a hundred nerves and vessels began to sprawl and twist themselves in new directions, pinching in the process. His body was on fire as fur started to recede, leaving raw and extremely sensitive skin.
But the noise of pain lasted very shortly, because soon he could not scream. As several organs changed shape and started to rearrange, his breathing was interrupted. By the time it was finally over, even though it had lasted perhaps ten seconds, he gasped desperately for air.
He had a good excuse to keep his eyes closed. The muscles around them had also twisted around a great deal and it strung awfully. But sooner or later, he was going to have to open them and face the others.
Having dignity seized from him was little new: he hadn't that right to claim since the day he'd been bitten, and there was a great deal of that mysterious concept in the transformation, for it was the emblem of wizarding and human shame, not only disgusting and degrading, which was nearly unbearable in its portions alone, but so pain-ridden that he was reduced to very little beyond that experience of hurt, hurting everywhere, and only wild cries he couldn't stem. But then, he had always been alone, and the only one to see any part of it: that much of pride was protected, and no one had seen him as werewolf. It hadn't occurred to him before hand that this would end with his friends' experiment, and even had it done so he wouldn't have guessed how much it would wound the all-important dignity. Everyone has some spark of it, and it hurts worse when it's punctured so deeply as Remus's was now than a year's worth of transformations of the sort he'd just undergone.
James, Peter, and Sirius had been completely silent ever since the transformation ended. If they had done anything during the change, Remus hadn't heard them. Sirius broke the deafening silence, as was his habit.
He bounded over to Remus, immediately trying to do whatever he could to fix his shoulder, which was still disfigured from his battle with the wall the night before. Mind still spinning, Remus could only make out bits and pieces of his words.
"…hell… terrible… it's a bloody good thing we're here know, you know that? …That could be fatal…"
"Sirius," he mumbled weakly, although it came out more like Swewuf, "it's fine, really…"
"Fine?!" Sirius roared. Remus winced, the pain in his head increasing threefold.
"Sirius, don't shout," Peter ordered timidly. "It's… It's hurting Rem."
That effectively kept Sirius quiet. "Oh. I'm sorry, Remus," he whispered. "… Remus? Are you all right?"
He was going to have to look them in the eye at some point. Reluctantly, he squinted. Sirius's face, leaning over him, slowly came into focus, expression full of sympathy – and pity.
After eight years of lycanthropy and its effects in every part of his life, Remus was used to losing a lot of his pride. Still, up until now, the transformation had been very private, in addition to personal and rather embarrassing, but luckily something only he had glimpsed. It had been difficult enough to relinquish that privacy, and now the look on Sirius's face made it ten times the worse.
Remus immediately closed his eyes again.
"Hey, I'm not that ugly, am I?" Sirius asked, pretending to be hurt.
"Yeah, Sirius. He can't stand to look at you," Peter nodded.
"Hey!"
"Well, Snuffles, you did sort of set yourself up for it," James pointed out. Remus laughed faintly.
"See? We made him laugh," James said happily. "You'll be all right, right, Remus?"
"You three helped a lot." Remus couldn't find the strength to elaborate further. "I'm fine." Then he sternly told himself that he was a Gryffindor and ought to act like one. He opened his eyes again.
James and Peter weren't as hard to look at. Their faces, too, held disbelief and horror, but not pity. Peter was wide-eyed, James more thoughtful than he was known to be.
"How can we help?" Peter asked quietly.
"Get out of here before Madam Pomfrey comes," Remus replied. "…Please," he added, as he saw skepticism on their faces. "I swear I've lived through worse. She'll fix it."
He suddenly recalled the terror of the night before. There had been no misfortune. They had pulled it off, and safely. He would have been stunned if he hadn't been so exhausted, but instead there was only a sigh of relief, and a great weight vanished.
"Positive – nothing?" Sirius sounded pleading. He hated to not be able to do anything.
To appease him, as well as to get them out of there, Remus told them about the bedroom upstairs and asked if they could bring a blanket down for him – it was chilly. Instead they chose to carry him upstairs.
"Honestly," Remus said impatiently, words bleeding together, hanging limply as they heaved him to the higher floor. "This is so humiliating. You will live to regret this."
"Yeah, we love you too, Rem," James replied, little concerned.
*
"Don't know about it." Christoph shoved the paper back at Severus. "What's the big deal?"
"It's funny."
"Bloody hilarious," Stella agreed.
"Who asked you?" Severus snapped at her before turning back to Christoph. "It's peculiar."
"Quit using the big words," Christoph replied lazily. "Honestly, Sev, I couldn't care less about some murdered werewolf. If you're asking if we did it, no, why would we? It'd be more useful to capture her and – "
"Christoph, Y.G.T.M.I.," Evan cut in sharply. "Y.G.T.M.I." was Evan's shorthand for "You're giving too much information." He said so many times that it was easier to create simpler version of it.
Christoph silenced while Severus finished his breakfast thoughtfully.
*
As much as Remus wanted to, it was difficult to manage to walk the long distance from the Shrieking Shack to the hospital wing after a full moon. Every limb felt like noodles that had been boiled too long and every step was uneven. Madam Pomfrey got him to the curtained bed with him leaning against her, as well as with the assistance of several charms.
"Lay down, dear," she said gently. Remus collapsed into the bed obediently.
She forced several liquids to his lips before turning to his injuries. It was uncharacteristic of her, but she knew by now what to expect, and to realise that Remus would survive if they waited a few more minutes.
"You don't seem terribly hurt… compared to the usual," she remarked, healing several cuts, having mended and bandaged his shoulder at the Asher house.
Remus didn't want to arouse any suspicion, but was half-asleep when he replied: "It must be those birthday presents. Sirius actually laid off the dirty cards this year."
TBC
"He's singing about standing in the shadows of love,
I guess he feels awfully alone
She said 'I know exactly what he means' – yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
And it's a sad, sad feeling when you're living off those in-betweens
But it's okay…
It's a lonely ol' night, but ain't they all?
-- "Lonely Ol' Night", John Mellencamp
