A/N: Sorry if I confused anyone with that last chapter. When Remus is in the woods and he thinks, "…practically thirty years later, and he was still limping along in some godforsaken forest…." etc, he's saying that it's practically thirty years after he was attacked as a little boy. It is really the same night as the rest of the chapter.

Werewolf, Chapter 6

Hagrid was not having a very good morning. He had been hoping to sleep a little late, seeing as it was Saturday, but it was not to be. Fang's incessant whines and scratches at the door woke him up at a far earlier time than he would have liked, and no amount of yelling or threats could make the dog shut up. Finally, muttering curses under his breath, he got up and yanked the door open. Fang leapt out and took off into the forest, howling madly. Shaking his head bemusedly, Hagrid put the kettle on and fell back into bed.

Fang ran through the forest at a dead run, following a scent he would know anywhere. Blood. He crashed through the undergrowth as the smell grew stronger and stronger. Finally, he reached a small clearing and found a man lying on the ground, his bloodstained face turned to the sky. Cautiously, Fang approached the wounded man and nudged him with his nose. No response. Fang whimpered and licked his cheek. Still nothing. The enormous dog sat on his haunches and looked down at the human, wondering what he should do. The man obviously needed help, and fast, but Fang had no idea how to give it to him. Then he thought of Hagrid. His master would know what to do. Without hesitation, he took off back to the gamekeeper's hut.

Hagrid had just poured himself a nice cup of hot tea, when he heard whining and scratching at his door. Opening it, he said, "I 'ope tha' was worth my gettin ou' o' bed!"

Fang didn't seem to notice his master's displeasure. He jumped up and down and barked and pulled at Hagrid's pajama sleeve.

"Wha' is it now?" Hagrid demanded, rather annoyed.

Still keeping a tight hold on the gamekeeper's sleeve, Fang started to lead him into the forest. Hagrid was having none of that though.

"Oh no ya don'," he said, pulling his dog back. "Ah'm not goin' in there righ' now! It's way too early, an' besides, ma tea'll get cold."

Fang was desperate. The man in the forest was dying, was perhaps already dead, and all Hagrid could think about was his blasted cup of tea! He watched helplessly as his master went back inside and sat down at the kitchen table. Suddenly, he had a stroke of inspiration. Dashing inside, he took Hagrid's pillow in his teeth and streaked back out.

"HEY! Come back 'ere with tha'!"

Dumb, stupid, idiotic dog… Hagrid thought moodily as he chased Fang into the forest. What has gotten in to him?

"Fang! Come back 'ere with ma pillow!"

The dog didn't pay any attention to him, and kept running. Hagrid tripped on a root and fell face first into a pile of wet leaves.

"Yer gonna pay fer this ya dumb dog! Stop righ' there!"

And to his surprise, Fang did. Hagrid advanced on him angrily and yanked the pillow out of his mouth.

"Look at this thing," he muttered. "Dog spit 'n bite marks all o'er it…"

He looked up, ready to give Fang the punishment he deserved, but the words died on his lips. Directly behind Fang, lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood, was Remus Lupin.

"Oh no…" he whispered, mangled pillow forgotten. Remus looked as though he had been through a meat grinder. His thin chest was bare, and long, bloody slashes stood out against his pale and scarred skin. It looked like somebody had hit him repeatedly with a beater's club, one arm lay at a rather odd angle, and blood poured from a wound beneath his hair. There was a bite mark on his left shoulder, right above the collarbone, and three deep cuts ran down the right side of his face. He looked unmistakably dead as he lay there, his entire body covered in early morning frost. Hagrid didn't dare to hope as he approached the inert form and felt for a pulse. He nearly cried when he found one, weak and sporadic, but there nonetheless. Leaving his pillow on the ground, he gathered Lupin up in his arms and, trying to ignore how frail the young man's body felt, quickly made his way up to the castle.


Harry had a difficult time staying awake at Quidditch practice that morning, as he had stayed up practically all the previous night waiting for Professor Lupin to return. Ron had known something was up when he and Hermione had come to breakfast looking like a pair of zombies, and they had filled him in on the entire thing. Ron had been slightly hurt that he had been left behind, but when they came to the part about Lupin growing claws and sharp teeth, he paled and said that he didn't blame them in the slightest.

As Harry flew around the pitch, shouting tips to his teammates, he found himself thinking about the whole business of ferals. From what Hermione told him, they didn't sound too bad, not as bad as dragons, or trolls. But the look on Ron's face when they told him about Lupin's feral disguise told him otherwise. Ron had looked absolutely terrified, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if there was something Hermione had failed to mention…

"Harry, look OUT!"

Harry looked round and saw that, in his slightly zombie – like state, he had begun to fly directly towards one of the goal posts. He tried turning to avoid it, but it was too late. He hit it straight on, and the last thing he remembered before blacking out was the snitch fluttering just out of reach…


Harry woke up in the Hospital Wing some time later. He was sporting a large, white bandage on his head, which reminded him of the one Snape wore when he got a concussion. Smiling slightly at this, he examined his surroundings. On the bedside table, there was a note from Ron. Picking it up, he read:

Dear Harry,

If you wake up while we're gone, don't worry. We'll be back in a little while,

we just went for some lunch. What happened? One minute, you were flying fine, and

then WHAM! you hit a goalpost! I've never seen you do anything like that before.

Blimey, you must have been more tired than I thought! Oh, and just something of interest,

check out who's in the bed next to you, you might get a little surprise. See you in a bit!

Cheers, Ron + Hermione

Harry looked over to see what Ron was talking about, and saw Professor Lupin lying in the bed next to him, completely covered in bloodstained bandages. His stomach gave a lurch. Lupin looked more dead than alive, his skin was ashen gray and his chest barely moved as he breathed. Even as Harry stared, Madam Pomfrey bustled over and pulled the curtains around the professor's bed closed. Then she came over to Harry and started talking animatedly as though nothing had happened.

"How are you feeling, Harry dear?" she asked. "Not too bad, I hope, you have a rather nasty concussion. They seem to be plentiful this year, you're about the fourth one I'd say."

She tutted in a motherly fashion as she checked Harry's bandage.

"Well, not as bad as it could be, but I'd still like to keep you here for the night. I'll see to it that your meals are brought up."

Harry was too shocked to make his usual protests against being kept in the Hospital Wing any longer than he absolutely had to. Madam Pomfrey raised her eyebrows at the unusual behavior of her most frequent patient, but decided that today was just her lucky day, and left it at that.

Ron and Hermione came in a little later, bearing food from the Great Hall. Gratefully, Harry attacked his lunch. Between bites, he explained to them how it came to be that he ran head on into a goalpost. They found the whole situation quite amusing. But when he had finished eating, they moved on to more serious topics of discussion. Such as the man who lay in the bed next to Harry's.

"What d'you suppose happened?" Ron asked in a hushed tone. Harry shrugged.

"Maybe he was caught spying," whispered Hermione, "and the ferals attacked him."

Ron looked doubtful though. "Hermione, d'you think Dumbledore would have sent Lupin if he wasn't a good spy? He's got to be really good at blending in and not getting caught."

"Well, I don't know what else could have happened." Hermione said. She sighed, and they sat in silence for a while, staring over at the curtains which shielded Lupin from view. Suddenly, Harry realized something.

"Hey, I have to stay here tonight anyway! Maybe I can find something out!" he exclaimed. The other two looked excited, but before they could say anything else, Madam Pomfrey shooed them out, stating that a certain teenage boy needed to sleep if he ever wanted to leave the Hospital Wing.


State the sequence of events leading up to the First Goblin War, and the effects the war had on the wizarding world in two paragraphs.

Harry threw down his quill in disgust. He was just not in the mood for practice N.E.W.T.'s, especially ones on History of Magic. He rubbed his tired eyes and looked at the clock. Five after ten. Yawning, he placed his books on the bedside table and lay down. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering if Lupin was ever going to wake up. Resolving to stay awake until he did, Harry took off his glasses and rolled over on one side. But despite his best efforts, it wasn't long until his breath evened out and he drifted off to sleep.

When Harry woke a few hours later, he wasn't sure what had disturbed him. The Hospital Wing was as silent as the grave, and just as dark. He was beginning to nod off again, when he heard something from the bed next to him. Rustling, as though Lupin was moving around.

"Professor?" Harry whispered. When he didn't answer, Harry retrieved his glasses and wand and cautiously stepped out of bed. Stealthily making his way across the floor, Harry drew back the curtains that surrounded Lupin's bed and stepped inside.

"Lumos," he whispered. Light blossomed from the end of his wand, revealing a half – naked Lupin, curled up in a little ball on top of sweat – soaked sheets. He was shivering violently and lashing out at random intervals, as if fighting off invisible enemies. Whimpering, he turned over so that his back was to Harry. In the light from his wand, he could see scars both old and new lacerating the pale flesh. Even more alarming was how thin the man was, his backbone and ribs were clearly visible. He whimpered again, and Harry nervously put a hand on his shoulder. Shaking him, he whispered, "Professor…Professor Lupin…wake up, it's just a dream…"

He nearly screamed when Lupin suddenly grasped his arm in one cold, shaking hand and pulled Harry's face down to his. His blue eyes were wide and terrified, and the scars on his face stood out red and livid against his skin.

"Are they gone?" he hissed. Harry mouthed wordlessly, too scared to answer.

"Am I dead?"

Harry shook his head and tried to find his voice.

"N - no, you're alive…you're in the Hospital Wing," he rasped. At this, Lupin calmed down somewhat. He loosened his death grip on Harry's arm.

"The Hospital Wing," he repeated.

"Y- yes sir." Harry stammered, straightening up. He tried to calm his breathing as Lupin uncurled himself and lay on his back, face to the ceiling. Suddenly, they heard footsteps approaching quickly. Lupin tensed, looking as though he was ready to leap at whoever opened the curtains, but it was only Madam Pomfrey.

"What is going on in here!" she hissed as she took the scene in. "Harry, what are you doing out of bed?"

Harry mumbled something unintelligible.

"What!"

"I said Professor Lupin was having a nightmare. It woke me up."

"Well, go back to bed, this has nothing to do with you," she snapped.

"Yes ma'am."

As he took his glasses off, he heard her say to Lupin, "Well, now that you're awake dear, you might as well go see Professor Dumbledore. He wanted to see you as soon as you were awake, do you think you're up to it?"

Lupin mumbled something Harry couldn't hear. Madam Pomfrey sighed in response.

"I knew you'd say that. You could just say 'no', and he would understand, but you never give yourself a break do you? Here, drink this. It'll ease the pain a little. Lean on my shoulder, I'll help you get up there…"

Harry heard them slowly leave the Hospital Wing. As they passed his bed, he was surprised to hear Lupin whisper, "G'night Harry."

"Goodnight Professor," he whispered back. The silence returned, but it took a very long time for Harry to get to sleep.