His body was thrashing, convulsing, as it tried in vain to return to its early form. He screamed as pinpricks of fur burrowed back under his skin. His nails and teeth retracted, sliding back until the nubs of his fingers, the gums of his mouth. He twitched and shuddered, and lay still at last.
Remus Lupin could feel beds of sweat pour down his face. Why had the transformation hurt so much? He was used to pain, but this – this was horrible.
He sat up. Where was he? Where were his friends? He wasn't in the secret place that had been provided for this very occasion – where he could seal himself up against the world – or seal the world up against him, just in case –
He felt cold stone, not torn wood, beneath him. Almost blindly, he traced the patterns of long claw marks that he had left during the transformation. He shuddered again.
Why was I here? He thought. Where are the others – James, Sirius, Peter?
A dull horror crept over him as he brought his hand up to his face.
His hands were covered in blood!
Whose blood? His? Panicking, he searched his body. There were bloodstains all over his torn clothes – but there was no wound. Horror dawned on him. If it wasn't his blood – then it was someone else's.
"I have killed tonight!" he moaned.
He tried to think back. Where had he been? What had he been doing, when he'd been transformed? He couldn't remember places – only images. The snow, softly falling – the view from the tower – a snowflake on a delicate gold lash, more of a shadow than an eyelash, even – a pair of white gloves –
"No!" Remus shouted.
He pulled himself to his feet and began to run, slipping and sliding in the blood that had pooled itself beneath him, dripping from his clothes. His footsteps echoed in the Great Hall. Soon, he knew someone would hear him and come after him. And then everyone would know his secret. They would escort him from the Castle. He might even be burned as a wolf. No! I have to find her first!
He threw open the door to the Tower and took the stairs two at a time. When he came to the top of the stairs, he stopped short. The door to the Tower had been viciously ripped from its hinges. And there were bloody prints all over the door. Bloody tracks in the snow, making a path from the door to –
Remus' heart stopped. For about twenty feet away, lying face down in the snow, was a girl's figure, crumpled and still. He would have recognized that mane of cornsilk hair anywhere.
"No! Narcissa!" Remus shouted. He ran over to her, slipping once in the sheets of snow, and fell down to his knees beside her. He picked up her crumpled body and turned it over.
There was blood matted in her hair. Her eyes were open wide, her face tinged slightly blue from the freezing snow. Her school uniform was stained crimson from the blood flowing freely from an open wound on her neck –
"No!" Remus cried, "No, please! Narcissa? Please, no!"
He shook her slightly, knowing against hope that it was useless. Her eyes, huge sapphires, stared sightless at the black sky. The wound on her neck was still bleeding – there was blood all over Remus. He began to sob, cradling her body against him, and rocked her back and forth.
Then he heard footsteps. Loud ones, coming up the stairs to the Tower. They were coming for him. Remus did not even try to hide. He did not relinquish his hold on Narcissa's body. Let them come, he thought. I deserve whatever they do to me.
The chant began, loud and condemning.
"REMUS! REMUS! REMUS!"
"I would never have hurt her," he whispered into Narcissa's blond hair.
"REMUS! REMUS! REMUS!"
"NOOOOOOO!" he screamed, sitting bolt upright in bed.
"Whoa, easy there!" James shouted, jumping a step back.
Remus began panting, his blue eyes wide with terror.
He was in his own bed, in Gryffindor Tower. The red sheets were twisted all around him, practically restraining him in place. His body was damp and shaking with a cold sweat. From out the window, he could see that it was nearly dawn.
James sat back down on the end of his bed and touched Remus' shoulder, "You okay there?" he asked softly.
Remus breathed heavily and did not answer.
"Maybe we should call Madam Pomfrey," Sirius said, out of nowhere. Remus turned. Sirius was standing at the head of his bed, his hair disheveled from sleep, his eyes wide with fear, "Maybe there's something wrong with him."
"Where – what happened?" Remus managed.
"You were thrashing and moaning in your sleep," James told him, touching his knee beneath the sheets sympathetically. "I figured it was best to wake you – you looked terrible."
"Nightmare, mate?" Sirius asked.
Remus tried to breathe regularly again, "You mean – I was here, all this time?"
James nodded, "We've been up for the last few minutes, trying to figure out if we should wake you or not."
"Wait a minute," Sirius broke in, "Why aren't you wearing pajamas, James? It's nearly five in the morning. What's going on?"
"Um," James looked down at his sweater and flannel pants, "I fancied a walk."
"All night?" Sirius raised an eyebrow, "'Cause you weren't here when I went to bed, mate."
James blushed. Sirius stared at him.
"All right, all right," James admitted, "I went for a talk with Lily."
"Evans?" Sirius blanched, "She actually gave you the time of day?"
"Time of night, more like," James grinned. "We sat in the library until it closed, and then we came and sat in the common room and – talked some more."
Sirius stared at him. James' face was red, but he seemed too happy to be honestly embarrassed.
"She is something else," he reminisced. "And –" Then he saw Remus' ashen, sweaty face, "Another time," he hastened, "Right now – Remus?"
Remus turned to him, eyes still wide.
"What's wrong?" James said, "You can tell us."
"Where's Peter?" Remus asked him shakily.
Sirius snorted, "Curled up in his bed, pretending to be asleep. Pretending he's not afraid."
From across the room came a snore too loud to be convincing. James rolled his eyes, "Ignore him," he said, "What were you saying before?"
Remus shuddered, "Then everyone's safe."
"Of course they are," Sirius said sympathetically, "It's still two days to the full moon."
"You look awful, mate," James admitted, "Your hair looks thinner than it used to – and your eyes –"
"I know," Remus said, "Tonight, I have to go."
"There's still two days," Sirius repeated.
"I know," Remus gulped.
"And we'll be there with you, remember?" James said, "The transformations aren't like what they used to be. You said so yourself."
"I can't run the risk," Remus muttered, "I would never forgive myself – "
He shuddered again.
James looked at Sirius, who looked back at him. James nodded, "All right, mate, whatever you say." He checked his watch, "Try and get some more sleep, all right? Don't worry, we'll be right here."
He said it awkwardly, but Remus was grateful. He lay down on his sweaty sheets and closed his eyes, exhausted.
But sleep did not come. When dawn broke over the castle, Remus was still wide awake, shaking deep in the recesses of his body, the nightmare still haunting him.
Later that day, as the sun was setting, Remus slipped into the dormitory and changed into his oldest, rattiest clothes, so nothing good that he owned would be ruined if he happened to transform tonight. He thought about his dream again. Why had he dreamed that? Why had his mind taken the most beautiful moment of his entire life – and ruined it?
He thought back to when he was only seven years old – when he'd first received the bite. His mother sobbing at the hospital. His father's solemn face. He was hooked up to machines that were helping him breathe. His throat had been mauled, but he was going to live.
"He'll never be the same again," the healer had said sadly, "Remus will live, but he's never going to be able to lead a normal life. With society the way it is – he'll be condemned."
"Then nobody must know," Ezra Lupin had said flatly, "We will keep him safe, we will make sure."
"There is no 'sure' when it comes to werewolves," the healer had told his parents, "With the rise of the full moon, he will transform – and he will be lethal, deadly. There will be no stopping him."
Remus had never killed in his life. As a child, his father had kept him locked in the basement during the time of the full moon. He had screamed and howled, clawing at the locks on the door, all the while the human in him screaming not to hurt his parents.
Remus shook his head. Those memories were terrible. The better ones came when he was at Hogwarts. The first year of hiding in the Shrieking Shack. Trembling in the darkness, afraid.
And then, in his second year, Lily had found him out. She had approached him in the common room one night, when he'd been sitting up, staring darkly into the flames. She had noticed how wan he looked, how pale – was there something she could do?
He had collapsed, head in hands, and told her everything. He had not been in love with Lily, but she was the only person he felt he could trust. She soothed him, petted his hair, and told him that she had heard about research being done, where a Potion was being developed, that would help solve everything, erase the transformations, or at least make him harmless –
Remus had shaken his head. That Potion was years from being ready, and he needed help now.
"Then," Lily had said, "I suggest you tell your friends."
Tell his friends? The thought was horrifying. What would they say? What would they think of him?
"They won't think anything," Lily said, "James Potter may be a bit of a pompous airhead – but he cares for you." And something in her green eyes had made him do it.
James and Sirius and Peter had been shocked, true, but they hadn't been judgmental. If anything, they were sympathetic. The next weekend, they approached him.
"Now don't get excited," James said, his own excitement creeping into his voice, "But we've been doing some reading, and I think there's a way we can help you."
It took them the better part of the next few years to figure out how to become Animagi, but they did it. Unbeknownst to anyone, they waited for the first night of the full moon, and transformed themselves into animals, escaping into the village with Remus by nightfall, keeping him company during what had been the loneliest times of his life.
Remus slammed the lid shut on his trunk. Who knew his secret? Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, James, Sirius, Peter, Lily. And nobody else. Nobody else could know, he reflected. Too many people knew already – not that he couldn't trust those few.
For the hundredth time it seemed, he thought about Narcissa, about the snow glistening on her gold hair. Then he shook his head. Better to forget about her. That way –
He gulped, and nodded determinedly.
That way, there was no possibility she would get hurt.
Later that night, he couldn't sleep. Thoughts of her kept haunting him – her face, the curve of her smile, the gossamer corn silk hair –
He sat up in bed. There was a way he could protect her – a way he could keep her to himself, and keep her safe.
If that was what she wanted.
"I will find out," he vowed, pulling the covers up and snuggling into the depths of his bed.
"As soon as I work up the courage, that is."