Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I can only borrow with great jealousy.
A/N: Thank you so much for actually giving me reviews! It's very exciting for me! Also, I know in Chapter One, I said Lupin's eyes were blue, but the more I think about it, the less right that seems, so I'll go back and change it, but just letting you know to prevent confusion. Please note that the rating has been changed to T; this chapter got a little darker than I was expecting, but I found that I liked it.
Chapter Three: Pureblood
"I'm sorry, Severus," Remus apologized innocently, his hazel eyes twinkling wickedly. "Did you need me to use smaller words?"
"One flea-bitten animal in the castle isn't enough, we have to have two now?"
"Inflation," he replied wisely, sternly telling himself that the game would be ruined if he gave in to the urge to snicker.
The Potions Master snarled and returned to his dinner. "Just when are we to be graced with our new arrival?" he demanded.
"Oh, no worries about that, Severus, he's already here." He leaned back in his chair to reveal the boy sitting on his right. Said boy was scowling darkly enough to give Severus some real competition, he reflected merrily.
"I apologize, Professor Snape, is my presence discomfits you," Callum greeted with cold formality. Remus was more than a little surprised to hear the stilted pretensions of society roll so fluidly off his lips.
Snape's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair. "Mister Sleipak," he replied.
"You two know each other?"
"All purebloods keep an acquaintance," Callum answered. "It's expected."
"So, what, you have the entire genetic registry lodged in your head?" Remus asked, inwardly amused by the notion.
"It's expected."
Noting the increasing frustration layering the boy's voice, Remus quickly decided to back off. Discretion may be the better part of valor, but it's also the key to survival, and no wolf didn't understand that instinct. "At any rate, Severus, Callum will need to be able to take the potion, as well." Glancing at his still furious colleague, Remus thought that some judicious flattery might not go amiss. "I know it's a very complicated and difficult potion to make, but you've never let me down, and you hate me. I can't imagine that you hate Callum."
"Of course not," he replied automatically. His piercing black eyes remained on the boy. "When and how were you bitten, Mister Sleipak?"
"Five days ago," he explained almost clinically. "I and several of my former friends were camping out in the woods on my property, where werewolves have not been known to be."
"Why didn't your sister inform me?"
"I don't believe she thought you could be of help." Though still tinged with the proper respect, Callum's tone had a bite to it that wouldn't have been out of place in the former Lucius Malfoy; perfectly polite, and deadly insulting.
"I see." His gaze traveled over to his table of Slytherins, about half of whom had chosen to stay for the final night, to fall upon Heidi. She felt his gaze, indeed, how could she not, but although she flushed a painful pink, she did not look up at him, nor did she glance in any way at the child sitting two seats to his left. "And now?"
"She has helped me as much as she can, and risked much in doing even that. Now she will do what she has to do."
Staring down at his plate, Remus was growing increasingly uncomfortable. It just didn't strike him as right for this eight year old to be so calmly, so cynically, discussing such things. That was the province of those for whom time and experience…well, he could concede the experience, but certainly not the time. He stifled a sigh and set down his fork, his appetite vanished.
"And your parents?" Severus asked delicately, as if the boy was a volatile potion. And perhaps he was, Remus reluctantly agreed. One part venom, seven parts pain, and three parts self-loathing; shake well and serve.
"Are not part of this equation," Callum responded coolly.
Snape nodded, his scowl almost thoughtful. "You'll have your potion, Remus, never fear," he said. "You'll still have your mind to keep from giving yourself a few new scars."
Remus sighed, swearing under his breath, as Callum's odd-colored eyes grew wide. "Thanks ever so, Severus," he grated out.
"My pleasure."
"Yes, I'd imagine it was."
"What did he mean?" Callum demanded, still too aware of his dignity to give vent to his shrill panic. "Keep your mind, what did he mean?"
"Are you finished with your dinner, Callum?" he asked pointedly.
The boy shoved away his mostly empty plate. "Yes, now what did he mean?"
"Come on." Pushing back his chair, Remus got to his feet. "We'll talk in private." He walked quickly out of the Great Hall, Callum trotting at his heels, gritting his teeth and ignoring the curious whispers of the students and other staff. Damn Severus, anyway. Personal insults were one thing, but scaring the boy…He shook his head and fought off a feral growl. What was it about the greasy git that always seemed to bring the wolf lurking closer to the surface?
Upon arriving at his, no, their, chambers, Remus sat the boy down on the couch, sitting next to him. "Callum, there's a great deal you'll need to know about what's happened to you, but I obviously wasn't going to be able to tell you all of that before or during dinner. We'll start now. I want you to tell me everything you know about being a werewolf."
Rather than answering immediately, words spilling randomly from his mouth without any sense of cohesion, Callum took his time to carefully consider, pulling his thoughts into neat and precise order. It occurred to the part of Remus' brain that he liked to label 'insane and inappropriate' that he apparently hadn't inherited his sister's latent Gryffindor tendencies. "Actually, not all that much," he admitted slowly. "I know that when a bite is received from the animal form of a werewolf, it infects the victim, and the victim then becomes a werewolf. I know that the transformation occurs at night during the three nights of the full moon."
"That's actually quite good for someone your age, Callum," Remus congratulated him quietly. He leaned back into the leather and stared into the flames that the house elves kept alive. His thoughts were flying about chaotically, so he patiently looked at each one, labeled it, and put it into its proper place and order within his mind. Finished, he looked back at Callum, who had stared at him the entire time. "Humans and animals are meant to exist on parallels, Callum," he began, his light voice unexpectedly grave. "They are meant to co-exist, and more or less ignore each other, because animals are a product of nature, and man has chosen to leave nature behind. Parallels, not perpendiculars. Werewolves are one of the perpendiculars. With the single exception of Animagi, humans are not meant to become animals, and that is precisely why Animagi are so few in number.
"The wolf, your normal wolf, is a savage, intelligent predator who defends his pack and keeps his place. He attacks for food and he attacks for defense. It is not in his nature to kill for enjoyment, or for simple blood lust. He kills because that is what he must do in order to survive, and because that is the way nature ordained for him to be. The wolf we both hold within us knows nothing of those simple boundaries. He kills because he enjoys it, because it makes his soul sing with horrific glee to spread terror and pain. Did you know that a werewolf kills less than a quarter of the humans it attacks? It's intelligent, intelligent by both the wolf and the man, and it can comprehend the sheer magnitude of pain inflicted by its bite, because it experiences that pain for itself. Humans and wolves shy away from pain; werewolves do not. A werewolf will sometimes do something for the sole reason that it will return to human, and the human will feel remorse. And it will not keep itself from spreading that pain physically."
He trailed off, fingers rubbing against three lines of pale scars across his face, and Callum realized with fascinated horror that they were from claws. He sighed and continued. "I'm not going to lie to you, Callum; the transformation is more painful than anything I have ever known. If I had to put it next to the Cruciatus Curse, I'm not entirely sure which one would win. And there is absolutely nothing we can take or do to ease that pain. And it doesn't stop at the transformation. On either side of the full moon, you'll feel queasy, weak, tired. The wolf will beg within you to be released, and it's a constant battle that you must not lose. The beast is very clever; he will wait until you're at the peak of a particularly strong emotion, like fear, anger, hate…or even love, or sorrow. He'll whisper to you, and he'll sound very reasonable. Remember this, Callum; the werewolf is a Dark Creature, and for good reason.
"Your own body will turn on you," he mused, feeling the way his bones ached, despite the beautiful weather and his barely being forty. "It takes years of training for an Animagus to be able to change without health problems; we are never given that luxury, because the transformation is not within our control. You'll find that you get sick more easily, and that it's a much harder and slower process to get well."
"So how does that potion fit into this?" Callum asked shakily, tears welling in his eyes.
"Ordinarily, we cannot control the beast. It has full reign until the sun rises, whatever it may choose to do. The Wolfsbane Potion is a relatively new discovery that allows us to keep our mind while we are transforming. It is still best to keep away from other people, keep away from temptation, because the beast still whispers at the back of your mind, and in wolf form it is all too easy to give in to it. But, because of the potion, I can curl up in office and sleep through the night without any fear of harming a student. I nearly did once," he confessed, cringing with the memory. "We were all very lucky that night, but it was that close, so I left Hogwarts for two years, until Headmaster Dumbledore convinced me to come back."
Sighing again, he reached out with one arm and gently pulled the trembling child against him, not hugging him, simply holding him against his chest, rubbing his hand ins slow circles on the boy's back to ease his labored breathing. "It is not much of a childhood, Callum," he stated gravely. "It's honestly not that much of a life. But, the full moon is three days a month, and it is manageable for the other twenty-eight or so. You know as well as I do that we do not live in a world without prejudice, but we also live in a world that is constantly changing, sometimes for the better. Things change, people change, times change…laws change. I have told you what is terrible about our curse, but there is some good to it, too. When someone you love comes into a room, you can hear them even before they open the door, smell their unique scent in a way that no purely human ever can. You can sense an enemy, and you have far more endurance through pain and trial than most others, if for no other reason than that it is what you live through every day."
He smiled as a new memory came to him, one so old and treasured that it seeped through his very pores to live in his skin as a waking dream. "And, there are still friends. You have to be careful, of course, who you let get close to you, and who you tell your secret to, but the ones that stay in spite of it…" Padfoot, Prongs…even you, Peter… "Those are the truest, deepest friends of a lifetime. Ordinary friendships rarely get tested that way; if you have a friend who is willing to not only accept your curse, but help you with it, decide that they will not allow you to live a half life…they almost make it worth it, Callum."
The boy was crying as he fell silent, shoulders shaking as he attempted to hide it, and Remus let him, simply rubbing his back in slow circles. Hot tears soaked into his robes, but he didn't mind; he could still remember the frighteningly clear scent of his mother's robes when he had cried into hers. He acknowledged that he may have been too blunt, this first talk, but it didn't help to sugar coat it. You couldn't put sugar in the potions; you couldn't put it in your life, either. He had been lucky in that his family had been open and accepting; horrified, yes, but willing to do what had to be done. He hoped for Callum's sake that Heidi could be more than just a non-disapproving face. From what he'd seen of her that day, he thought it a reasonable hope.
If only the boy hadn't been pureblood, he thought. He knew it was a strange sentiment, but he couldn't help it. Callum had grown up with a strict set of expectations, with the knowledge that he would one day enter society as a rich, powerful, and usually charming eligible male, would marry a pureblood beauty with a respectable dowry, and begin the process anew. Dinner tonight had proven that; it was ingrained it his very instinct, that thing that would become so powerful now that the beast had invaded his soul. It was difficult to give up what you had only vaguely dreamed about, plans and goals and aspirations with no tangible definition; how much more so when you knew what was being raped of you?
Pulling the boy closer into his lap, he wrapped his arms around him and rocked him softly, until the even breathing told him that he had cried himself to sleep. After a while, he took him into the new room and gently tucked him into bed. Retreating back to the couch and the comforting flames, he remained awake, fearful of the demons that he knew would stalk his sleep.