I am the Werewolf
I: Bitten
I was nine when I was bitten. We were going to have a campfire in the backyard like my mum had done when she was little. I was getting firewood, and it was kind of dark. Something cracked nearby, and I jumped; I knew it wasn't me. I froze and looked around. There was a pair of red eyes watching me through a bush. I screamed for Dad, and the wolf jumped on top of me. It started tearing my arm to shreds. All I remember is seeing a chunk of muscle hanging off my arm in the light of Dad's stunning spell. I still have nightmares about that.
When I woke up, I almost screamed, and then I realized that I was in Mum's lap. I opened my eyes. I was in a hospital bed, at St. Mungo's, presumably. Dad was sitting next to me and watching me with an expression I didn't quite recognize. Pity, anger, and maybe a little fear. I wasn't sure where the fear came from.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Well," Dad began, clearly uncomfortable about something he was about to say, "you...well, that was a werewolf."
That didn't make sense for a minute. Why had Dad been so uncomfortable about telling me that? Oh, god, I thought. "A werewolf?" Dad nodded. I started swearing and crying at the same time. Dad gave Mum a look that said clearly, Give him a break.
So that was why he looked scared. I was a werewolf. What would that mean, though? I was nine then—I didn't really understand. I just knew that it would not be good.
I calmed down a little. "A werewolf." I swallowed. "What's going to happen?"
"Well," Mum said, "when we leave, we'll register you at the ministry, they'll tell us what to do on the full moon and life will go as usual, I guess. As far as we know."
I shook my hair out of my eyes. I saw gray in it, and I hoped it was just the light. "Will it make a difference?"
"Yes, but only if people know," Mum told me. "I wouldn't tell anyone if I were you; not unless you know them really well. If you tell, people will be afraid of you. I know it's not fair, Remus, but that's the way it's going to be. People just don't really like werewolves."
I started swearing again. This was not good, and I couldn't do a thing about it.
Two days later I left St. Mungos. We went to the werewolf office, and I was registered. They were very nice about it, but that didn't make me feel any better. Those three days were probably some of the worst in my life, and I've had some pretty bad days.
Three weeks later it was the full moon. Dad took me out into the forest as soon as it started getting dark and chained me to an oak tree in a large clearing. He put a silencing spell on the clearing and climbed a tree nearby to make sure I didn't get away. I looked at the sky. The moon was just peeking over the tops of the trees.
I felt my hands and feet change. I looked at them. My fingers and toes were fusing and getting longer. But as I watched, my range of vision changed. I could see farther to the sides. I didn't really remember anything—just a faint picture of Dad repairing the chain after I had broken it, and me getting tangled up trying to climb the tree. I woke up very late the next morning bruised and scratched, and with a bad headache.