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Chapter Four Long Live Memory "We turn away to face the cold, enduring chill As the day begs the night for mercy Your sun so bright it leaves no shadows, Only scars."
—U2
For about a year when Remus was nine, the transformation worsened enormously. His frightened parents replaced the door of his room with a stronger, solider one. At the full moon, he had to be chained to restrain him.
His older brother, Ambrose, had his theories as to why this was happening. Ambrose was himself a werewolf. He'd been the one who'd bitten Remus. He had a couple of theories, but there was one he credited. He didn't think, as his mother did, that his brother's pain came from the onset of puberty; Remus was too young for that. No; Remus was sensing the tension in the house. When Ambrose was bitten, it had strained relations between the boy's parents a great deal. Remus, he thought, would probably be the last straw. Less than a year later, he was proved correct in that instance. But that was not here, not now; now Remus tore everything in reach to splinters three nights a month. And then he chewed up the splinters, so his mouth and throat bled in the morning.
It was the first evening of the full moon, and Ambrose was already brooding in his room. Remus descended the stairs to get something to eat. His mother was away, talking to some specialist in hopes he could cure her sons. His father was in the kitchen, reading a novel. He looked up when his second son entered the kitchen, and looked very startled. "Remus?" he asked. "What is it?"
"I wanted something to eat," Remus said, in an uncharacteristically rough voice. "Wooden furniture isn't appetizing. What, you think I should be back in my cage?" His voice lost its toughness and began to tremble a little. "Ambrose hasn't come to help me get chained up yet, so I have time. Should I stay tied up like a good pet werewolf? Is that better?"
For the first time in nine years, Remus' father struck him. Then he stared at his own hand, then at the matching print on the boy's face, shocked. Father and son stared at each other. Then Remus' quiet, sedate, undemonstrative father came and took his son in his arms. "Remus," he whispered. "Never think of yourself that way. You're not an animal, you're my son, and a damned fine boy you are. I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to hit you ..."
Remus started crying, but not because of the slap, which hadn't even hurt that much. In the kitchen doorway, Ambrose stiffened a moment, then relaxed. Remus was all right. And if he hadn't been – he didn't know what he would have done. He'd been the one to bite Remus four years ago, and he would never quite live down the guilt of that. He would have struck out if Remus was really hurt. Remus was more than a little brother; he was Ambrose's friend, his packmate, and he would not be held responsible for his actions if anyone – even their father – injured that boy.
He came forward and gently separated his father and brother. "Come on, Remus," he said softly. "If I'm going to get you ready, you'll have to live on the furniture a bit longer. Sorry."
A short time later, alone, chained and helpless, Remus' body shook with the transformation, and he screamed with pain, hearing his own cries and those of his brother in the next room. That was the worst change he'd ever lived through. The other times, he had known, grimly, that he would survive it. This time he wasn't sure.
Remus had that nightmare pretty frequently. He'd awakened from it on one particular occasion in Godric's Hollow, when staying with the Potters. He slept in the room that had belonged to James' late uncle Theophilus. There were a pair of twin beds in this room, and Cambri had the other one, because she was staying there too.
Remus was pretty well practiced at waking from nightmares without a sound, and he was sure he'd done the same this time. He woke up with his face wet. Well, and why not? He would be all right, but he had to let the emotions out.
Somehow, though, Cambri woke up too.
"I don't mean to," she'd explained. "I have a ... gift. If someone is dreaming of a memory, I pick it up sometimes. I didn't know I could do it with you. But memories are ... shall we say ... my strong suit." That was all the information Remus really needed. But she'd told him more – the origin of her abilities and how she could use them. And she'd told him where she came from. That had been the real shock.
Needless to say, neither of them had slept again that night.
Back in the present, Remus shook his head to clear it of dark thoughts and left the office. It was a late, lazy sort of afternoon – the first Friday of the school year. Remus had come to no further conclusions about Cambri, and it frustrated him. He had, however, had his class with Harry. In an amusing twist, Harry had taken the seat Sirius had favored. His friend Ron Weasley had chosen the seat that had belonged to James up to mid-fifth year. After that, though, it had become Cambri's. Come to think of it ... Cambri hadn't always been at Hogwarts, he recalled. She'd become their friend in that fifth year ... the year Snape almost died, the year his relationship with Marsha had gone beyond that of homework partners, and the year Sirius fell desperately, hopelessly in love with Cambri. The year the Marauder's Map was stunningly completed. The year they blew up Filch's office, the year they changed the password into the prefect's bathroom, the year that infamous Defense Against the Dark Arts jinx took effect. O.W.L. year, career advice year, and the year Cambri came.
When had he forgotten her? It must have taken an enormously powerful charm, and he'd never felt that there was anything missing. But how could he so completely forget someone like a sister, someone who was part of his life? Remus tried to ignore the problem, throwing himself into his job. After all, it was a teaching job he'd always really wanted.
Dominic Cole continued to fascinate him in an odd, intuitive way. It had not escaped Remus' far-sighted eyes that he refused to be in the company of a Weasley. Especially Ginny Weasley. And whenever Ginny laid eyes on him – at the table, for instance, or in the halls – it didn't seem she could look away.
Dominic, however, continued in his efforts to rid himself of anything resembling the liking of his schoolmates. Remus increased his estimate: by Halloween, most of his own House and half the others would detest the little brat. Remus, though, liked him. Nicky reminded him of someone. He couldn't say who. He tended to say Cambri, but that could be because Cambri was on his mind lately. Cambri was on his mind even more than Sirius was.
Chapter Four Long Live Memory "We turn away to face the cold, enduring chill As the day begs the night for mercy Your sun so bright it leaves no shadows, Only scars."
—U2
For about a year when Remus was nine, the transformation worsened enormously. His frightened parents replaced the door of his room with a stronger, solider one. At the full moon, he had to be chained to restrain him.
His older brother, Ambrose, had his theories as to why this was happening. Ambrose was himself a werewolf. He'd been the one who'd bitten Remus. He had a couple of theories, but there was one he credited. He didn't think, as his mother did, that his brother's pain came from the onset of puberty; Remus was too young for that. No; Remus was sensing the tension in the house. When Ambrose was bitten, it had strained relations between the boy's parents a great deal. Remus, he thought, would probably be the last straw. Less than a year later, he was proved correct in that instance. But that was not here, not now; now Remus tore everything in reach to splinters three nights a month. And then he chewed up the splinters, so his mouth and throat bled in the morning.
It was the first evening of the full moon, and Ambrose was already brooding in his room. Remus descended the stairs to get something to eat. His mother was away, talking to some specialist in hopes he could cure her sons. His father was in the kitchen, reading a novel. He looked up when his second son entered the kitchen, and looked very startled. "Remus?" he asked. "What is it?"
"I wanted something to eat," Remus said, in an uncharacteristically rough voice. "Wooden furniture isn't appetizing. What, you think I should be back in my cage?" His voice lost its toughness and began to tremble a little. "Ambrose hasn't come to help me get chained up yet, so I have time. Should I stay tied up like a good pet werewolf? Is that better?"
For the first time in nine years, Remus' father struck him. Then he stared at his own hand, then at the matching print on the boy's face, shocked. Father and son stared at each other. Then Remus' quiet, sedate, undemonstrative father came and took his son in his arms. "Remus," he whispered. "Never think of yourself that way. You're not an animal, you're my son, and a damned fine boy you are. I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to hit you ..."
Remus started crying, but not because of the slap, which hadn't even hurt that much. In the kitchen doorway, Ambrose stiffened a moment, then relaxed. Remus was all right. And if he hadn't been – he didn't know what he would have done. He'd been the one to bite Remus four years ago, and he would never quite live down the guilt of that. He would have struck out if Remus was really hurt. Remus was more than a little brother; he was Ambrose's friend, his packmate, and he would not be held responsible for his actions if anyone – even their father – injured that boy.
He came forward and gently separated his father and brother. "Come on, Remus," he said softly. "If I'm going to get you ready, you'll have to live on the furniture a bit longer. Sorry."
A short time later, alone, chained and helpless, Remus' body shook with the transformation, and he screamed with pain, hearing his own cries and those of his brother in the next room. That was the worst change he'd ever lived through. The other times, he had known, grimly, that he would survive it. This time he wasn't sure.
Remus had that nightmare pretty frequently. He'd awakened from it on one particular occasion in Godric's Hollow, when staying with the Potters. He slept in the room that had belonged to James' late uncle Theophilus. There were a pair of twin beds in this room, and Cambri had the other one, because she was staying there too.
Remus was pretty well practiced at waking from nightmares without a sound, and he was sure he'd done the same this time. He woke up with his face wet. Well, and why not? He would be all right, but he had to let the emotions out.
Somehow, though, Cambri woke up too.
"I don't mean to," she'd explained. "I have a ... gift. If someone is dreaming of a memory, I pick it up sometimes. I didn't know I could do it with you. But memories are ... shall we say ... my strong suit." That was all the information Remus really needed. But she'd told him more – the origin of her abilities and how she could use them. And she'd told him where she came from. That had been the real shock.
Needless to say, neither of them had slept again that night.
Back in the present, Remus shook his head to clear it of dark thoughts and left the office. It was a late, lazy sort of afternoon – the first Friday of the school year. Remus had come to no further conclusions about Cambri, and it frustrated him. He had, however, had his class with Harry. In an amusing twist, Harry had taken the seat Sirius had favored. His friend Ron Weasley had chosen the seat that had belonged to James up to mid-fifth year. After that, though, it had become Cambri's. Come to think of it ... Cambri hadn't always been at Hogwarts, he recalled. She'd become their friend in that fifth year ... the year Snape almost died, the year his relationship with Marsha had gone beyond that of homework partners, and the year Sirius fell desperately, hopelessly in love with Cambri. The year the Marauder's Map was stunningly completed. The year they blew up Filch's office, the year they changed the password into the prefect's bathroom, the year that infamous Defense Against the Dark Arts jinx took effect. O.W.L. year, career advice year, and the year Cambri came.
When had he forgotten her? It must have taken an enormously powerful charm, and he'd never felt that there was anything missing. But how could he so completely forget someone like a sister, someone who was part of his life? Remus tried to ignore the problem, throwing himself into his job. After all, it was a teaching job he'd always really wanted.
Dominic Cole continued to fascinate him in an odd, intuitive way. It had not escaped Remus' far-sighted eyes that he refused to be in the company of a Weasley. Especially Ginny Weasley. And whenever Ginny laid eyes on him – at the table, for instance, or in the halls – it didn't seem she could look away.
Dominic, however, continued in his efforts to rid himself of anything resembling the liking of his schoolmates. Remus increased his estimate: by Halloween, most of his own House and half the others would detest the little brat. Remus, though, liked him. Nicky reminded him of someone. He couldn't say who. He tended to say Cambri, but that could be because Cambri was on his mind lately. Cambri was on his mind even more than Sirius was.