Disclaimer: These lovely characters belong to J.K. Rowling. She simply lets us play with them, and we love her for it. Any characters you don't recognize, however, are my own, and please respect that.
Author's Note: Weekend visit from the beau, so I already went back on my promise. We'll see if I can't make up for it, okay? Also, I have a bit of a readership survey to present to you. I'm thinking of making this into the first of a trilogy. The second two would be vaguely AU, but I would try to keep as much to J.K. Rowling's plot as possible. But do let me know what you think of the idea. As always, reviews are welcome. Today's chapter is mostly Remus: enjoy!
* * *
"He didn't mean anything by it, Moony."
Remus glanced up from the plateful of Chocolate Frogs in the window of the sweet shop in downtown Bath. James, shifting his weight from foot to foot, stood over him. "What're you talking about?" Remus asked, attempting lightness. He jingled the change in the constrictive pockets in his Muggle jeans. "Want some Frogs? I've got just enough."
James shook his head and held up a bag that was rustling suspiciously in his hand. "I've got enough here."
He shrugged. "Suit yourself." He filled his hands with the brightly wrapped chocolates and shuffled over to the counter where a sweet-faced witch with salt-and-pepper hair rang up his charge. "So what're you rambling on about, Prongs?" he asked as the two of them left the store, the smell of chocolate and licorice replaced by the scent of hot dust on cobblestones.
"You know what I'm talking about," James said hotly, but then lowered his voice as a group of school-aged witches, giggling, passed by them. "I'm talking about what happened to Ani the other night… with Sirius…"
"Oh?" Remus said. He attempted to keep his tone light, but at the very last moment his voice caught. He coughed, hoping for cover, but James' eyes grew knowing. Merlin's ghost, Remus swore inwardly. I'd hoped we wouldn't have to deal with this today. I should have known better when James told Sirius and Peter to go off on their own today.
Remus knew that Sirius hadn't meant anything that night. They were best friends, and Remus knew that Sirius—though he might be haughty and arrogant in turns—would never say or do anything intentionally hurtful towards Remus.
But even knowing that didn't erase the icy hand that had clutched around his stomach when Sirius rushed to Ani, panic all over his face. He'd watched, cold inside, as Sirius looked over Ani for wounds—wounds, he knew, that Sirius thought had come from a werewolf's fangs. The realization stung. It didn't matter that it wasn't a full moon—the Lupins had made sure that their eldest son would return in time to avoid incident—or that, if Remus had attacked Ani, she would never have survived. Sirius had automatically assumed the worst. And it hurt more than Remus was willing to admit. It had brought back memories that had haunted Remus throughout the rest of the wee hours of the morning.
* * *
"Remus, darling," Sasha Lupin called into the backyard. "It's getting late. Bring your brother in for his bath and start getting… ready."
Twelve-year-old Remus Lupin sighed heavily. On the one hand, he'd been feeling weaker than ever today—thanks to the moon phase, of course—and playing with his brother had almost worn him out. But on the other hand, the tension in his mother's voice when she bade him to get ready threatened to drive him mad every time he heard it.
She means well, he reminded himself for the ten thousandth time in the past six years, and it's for the best. Putting on a smile, he leaned out of the window of the tree house his father had built in the huge ash in their backyard. "Down in a minute, Mum!" he caroled. Climbing back inside, he knelt down before a smaller, rounder version of himself and reached out to ruffle the silky golden-brown hair. "Ready to go in mate?" he said cheerfully. "Want to ride on my back?"
Cherub-faced Remiel David Lupin, age five, flashed pearly white teeth at his older brother in a grin. "Yeah!" he shouted and shrieked with laughter as Remus swung him up onto his back and snaked down the rope ladder. Remmy gripped tightly onto Remus' shoulders as he swerved across the yard, dodging toys and flowerbeds as Remmy laughed hysterically. "Faster, Remus!" he called out. "Faster!"
"Not too fast, loves, or you'll knock your old mother over!" Sasha laughed as her sons galloped through the backdoor. Remus made a dramatic screeching noise as he skidded to a stop on the ancient wooden floors and grinned at his mother as she plucked the youngest Lupin off of his shoulders. "Look at you," the boys' mother pretended to scold. "Knees black as night, nails as grubby as a niffler's! What will I do with you?"
"No bath tonight, Mum," Remmy pleaded. "Remus promised he'd tell me another story about the Ghoul's Forest and the werewolves!"
Mrs. Lupin shot her eldest son a sharp look and Remus twitched under the scrutiny of her bright blue eyes. Way to go, Rem, he thought wearily. This would mean another lecture, and Remus had learned the speech by heart at this point.
"It's just safer this way," John Lupin said resolutely the night his wife bore him their second son. "When he's older, we can tell him… when we know he can keep his tongue. Until that point, it just isn't wise." To the then seven-year-old Remus, he said, "We can't let your brother know about your problem, son. Just until he's old enough. He might tell someone else, and we can't let that happen. They might take you away from us, or worse. So for now, it will be our family secret. Okay?"
Remus didn't like it, but he'd understood. And until this past school year, when he confessed the secret to his fellow Marauders—who were now on a quest to join him whenever he changed—he'd kept the secret from almost everyone in the world. It wasn't hard; the older Remus grew, the more he was able to research his kind, and what he found was no good. The Daily Prophet, which was delivered to their doorstep in time for his father's morning coffee each day, sometimes had articles about villagers who reported savage werewolves attacking and dragging young children into the woods to feed. Remus shuttered as he read these reports; what if someday that were him?
That could never happen.
As far as Remus knew, besides his family and the Marauders, only two other people knew about his lycanthropy. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall knew the truth, and to this day, Remus wondered how they'd found out. For it certainly hadn't been by his or his parents' hands. But in the end, it had worked out. Dumbledore had made accommodations for Remus' transformations and the secret had remained safe.
"What's this I hear about no baths?"
"Daddy!" Remmy chirped and Remus grinned as his father rumpled up his hair as he came into the kitchen.
"You'll start growing cabbages behind your ears if you don't take a bath, Remmy m'boy," Mr. Lupin informed his youngest gravely.
Remmy screwed up his face. "Yeeech!" he grimaced and the family laughed. Even at five, Remiel had already formed very definite opinions about which foods he found acceptable.
The boys' father kissed Remmy on the forehead. "Go on upstairs with your mum, chap, and take your bath," he instructed the little boy.
"I want to play with Remus!" Remmy insisted obstinately. "He said he'd tell me a story!"
"About werewolves, John," Sasha said, a current of tension in her voice.
Remus stiffened as his father gave him a significant look. "We'll have to wait 'til tomorrow for a story, big guy," Mr. Lupin told Remmy firmly. "You need a bath and Remus has to get some sleep. Alright?"
The little boy drooped. "Okay."
"Good lad." Mr. Lupin put a hand on Remus' shoulder and squeezed. "As for you, it's off to bed. Come on up, and I'll help you get ready. Tell your brother goodnight, Remus."
"G'night, squirt," Remus said, tweaking one fat cheek of his little brother's face. Remmy waved as Mrs. Lupin carried him off for a bath.
So began what would become one of the longest nights of Remus' life.
"What's this I hear about you telling your brother about werewolves?" Remus' father asked as they slowly descended the stairs.
He shrugged uncomfortably. "He asks me to tell him stories, so I just make some up for him," Remus replied, his eyes focused on the stairs as they creaked under his feet. "Not every night, just sometimes."
Mr. Lupin nodded and Remus felt a brief sliver of relief. Maybe he'd get off the hook for this. But Mr. Lupin sighed and the relief fled from Remus' chest. "But about werewolves, son?" he asked, grim of face. Remus hazarded a glance up at him; the poor lighting in the hallway leading to the cellar cast craggy shadows over his face. "You know we can't talk about that around your brother."
"He's going to have to figure it out sometime, Dad," Remus said. He shuffled his feet as they approached the large, dark door in the corner of the cellar. A shiver ran through his body. "I just thought that maybe if I told him some stories—you know, where the werewolves weren't all that bad—it wouldn't be such a shock when he did find out. And he might feel a little better about it."
Father and son paused outside of the room to which the dark door lead and again Remus chanced to look upon his father's face. It was full of lines and suddenly seemed very old. When he spoke again, John Lupin's voice was low and gentle. "I understand what you're trying to do, Remus," he said quietly. "But for now—for your sake—we need to keep this quiet. Even to your brother. He's just too young; he might tell someone else." He squeezed his son's shoulders at the dismayed look on Remus' face. "I know it's rough, old boy, and you're doing great. It's just for a while longer. Okay?"
Remus nodded heavily. "Okay."
"Good lad." Mr. Lupin pushed open the door and Remus took a deep breath as he looked into the large dark room. A ripped up tangle of blankets lay dormant in one corner. The scent of musk and fur caught Remus' nostrils. "Good night, son, I'll come down bright and early with some breakfast for you."
"Don't bother," Remus replied. "I'm never hungry in the morning anyway." He glanced down at his father's hand and saw him gripping a wand. A ripple of embarrassment went through him. "Dad, you don't have to seal me in, you know," Remus said wearily.
Mr. Lupin had the grace to look embarrassed. "Don't I?" he asked his son.
He shook his head. "My paws are too big to pry the door open," he reminded him. "And I don't try to ram the door or anything; I've gotten kind of discouraged the past couple of times." They exchanged a rueful look. Remus had awoken from the transformation with blood plastering down his hair. He turned pleading eyes on his father, but tried to school his face to stillness. "Couldn't you just leave it alone? And if I try to get out you can put the spell back on?"
"Sure, son," Mr. Lupin said. He kissed Remus' hair. "Try to get some rest."
He closed the door behind him and Remus was alone.
* * *
The pain was almost unbearable, and the human in him fought desperately to repress a long and mournful howl. The wolf won out, though, and the sound ululated through the night like a palpable thing.
~A wolf needs to be free to hunt~ the voice that was and was not his own urged him. ~Not trapped beneath ground like prey~
He fought the urge but it was true. Even through the concrete walls of the house basement the odors of the woods surrounding the Lupins' home made it to the werewolf's nose. His mouth watered uncontrollably as the hot scent of deer flesh wafted to his nose and, testily, the wolf began to pace.
Suddenly, a noise caught his unusually sensitive ears. The creak of stairs. The scent of someone—one of the human family—approaching. Equal parts panic and glee shot through the wolf's veins.
It's my father! Remus shouted at his other self. We will not attack him!
But, as his ears pricked once more and horror spread through his body, Remus realized that it was not, in fact, his father.
"Are you down here, Remus?" came the horrifically familiar voice. Remmy. "Remus, where are you? You weren't in bed. Remus, I think I heard a werewolf outside! Let's go look for it! Let's go!"
~Young blood~ thought the wolf as the blood pumped hard and fast. ~A wandering lamb. Tonight we feast~
We will not! Remus shouted inwardly, but the door began to creak and in a swirl his human senses were lost. All that remained was the wolf.
* * *
"Remus!"
He started and focused in on James' face. His friend had him hard by the shoulders, and Remus noticed that his chest was heaving. "Are you okay?" James asked, concerned.
Slowly, he nodded, but inside, he began to ache. Memory began to overtake them. Remiel's scream as he fled the basement, the scent of the blood—taken, thankfully, only by a scratch, and not a bite—left behind. The look on their mother's face the next morning as she cradled the baby and looked at Remus with a fear he'd never seen before. And finally, Sirius' eyes as he looked over Ani with fear and… something else. Something that made his fists clench.
"I'm fine," he said to James, his voice hollow. "Just not feeling so well. Think I'll go and get myself a butterbeer or something."
Before his friend could follow, he pushed off into the crowd.