CHAPTER 13
Some people say that nothing is more painful than a paper cut, others the bite of the occamy bird. Lyca, as she awoke from an oddly convoluted position in Dumbledore's chair, believed that a crick in the neck beat them all. Every time she moved, Lyca felt as if a swarm of doxies were making a feast out of her neck and shoulder.
It was late in the afternoon and Dumbledore was not in his study. Everyone was probably gathered in the Dining Hall for lunch by now: the Headmaster included. None of the other teachers knew she was here, and – for her safety as well as her child's – he could not risk exposing her presence, especially with so much political and social turmoil afoot in the wizarding world at the moment. Neither could she wander the halls of her alma mater; Lyca would have to content herself within the confines of Dumbledore's office.
"Blood and sand," Lyca moaned with a hand on her neck as she forced herself to sit up properly. Upon doing so she noticed a metal tray with a sizeable lid and a small stack of books, crowed with a small note, resting on Dumbledore's desk.
Lyca,
I took the liberty of borrowing a few books from the school library, which I thought you might enjoy. I hope they will keep you occupied until I return.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
P.S. – The tray is enchanted; have as much as you want.
Lyca lifted the lid of the tray to discover platefuls of eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast, along with cups of juice, tea, and coffee in various sizes. Everything looked steaming and piping and hot. Lyca grinned, as she had guessed the "enchantment' Dumbledore meant. She quickly grabbed a piece of toast before replacing the lid, only to reopen it again, but this time to an entirely different kind of breakfast feast. This time she got waffles with ice cream and syrup; next time she discovered French toast with honey glaze. She laughed and kept covering and uncovering the lid until she arrived at a piping hot stack of chocolate chip pancakes.
After finishing her breakfast – twice – Lyca began reading some of the books Dumbledore had left for her. The most interesting was Werewolf Birth and Other Oddities, by T.W. Canid, which – while generally acting more as a guide to some kind of magical freak show – turned out to be very useful.
The typical werewolf comes into being when another werewolf bites a human being (assuming that said human being is lucky enough to survive said attack). Even then, the werewolf does not exist perpetually; it only exists during the full moon. At any other time, a werewolf is considered a normal person. This has caused werewolves to be shuffled between the Beast and Being divisions of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures for years.
It is possible, however unlikely, for werewolves to be actually conceived and birthed. There is no aspect of this particular process that is not extremely painful and, more often than not, deadly.
The pup(s) can only be conceived during the full moon (while the parents are in werewolf form). The actual process of conception – the intrinsic mating rituals and sexual intercourse performed by the werewolf parents – is highly dangerous, both to the parents and any unfortunate observers, in that it more closely resembles a form of heated combat than lovemaking.
If the mother is lucky enough to survive this chance encounter with the father of her children, she doesn't have much to look forward to. Werewolf birth is one of the most painful experiences in the wizarding world; as the mother does not shift into wolf form while she is pregnant or giving birth. The gestation period lasts for five to six months, during which time the mother will experience intense cravings for raw meat, poultry, and/or fish. As well as emotional outbursts the likes of which make those of the average pregnant woman sound reasonable. The pregnancy is so short because the children grow and mature as wolves, not as human children.
The pup(s) – for werewolf children are often born in pairs – must be born on the night of the full moon. The influence of timing and the full moon on werewolf birth is very important for another, less understood reason: only werewolf pup(s) born on the full moon have any chance of retaining his or her humanity. If the pup(s) is born at any other time, it will remain a wolf, incapable of higher brain functions and the characteristic transformative process. They children will, essentially, be ordinary wolves for their entire lives.
Just as the gestation period of the pups is that of an average wolf or dog, so is the maturation time. The children grow and learn as wolf pups, incapable of transformation, until they are about a year old. At which point the children are capable of shifting from wolf to human form at will – unless it if the night of a full moon, in which case they are forced to take on their lupine forms. The children will continue grow at an exponential rate, until they reach their twenties, after which they will mature as normal human beings. It is, therefore, important to note that while werewolf children may have a temporal age of about five or six, they are physically, mentally, and emotionally mature.
But the most interesting and defining characteristic of werewolf children, at least in this author's personal opinion, is this: When transformed, a normal werewolf loses all traces of his or her humanity, and will attack any witch or wizard, regardless of their prior relationship to said werewolf, who it happens to come across. This loss of human awareness and thought is completely unheard of in werechildren (provided they have been born at the correct time and under the correct circumstances). While their bodies may change during the course of the full moon, their minds do not. It is as if they were born with the Wolfsbane Potion in their blood (479).
Lyca put down the book and tried to digest the information she had just read, and failed miserably at the process. She began pacing around Dumbledore's office, taking long, deep breaths in a feeble attempt to calm herself down. She eventually gave that up as well, stopping to rest her head against the end of the bookshelf at the far end of Dumbledore's office.
"For Remus and our baby," she whispered. "I have to be stronger than this." Lyca's knees gave out from under her and she slowly sank to the floor. "I can do this," she muttered, pulling her legs up to her chest and wishing for someone to talk to. "I can do this…"
Lyca was thrust out of her pensive state by the sudden bang of the study door slamming open. A man with dark, oily hair, pale skin and billowing black robes marched across the threshold and into the study. He had a slightly crazed, but satisfied look on his face. It was Severus Snape, but not the same Severus Snape she had gone to school with. He seemed different; taller, darker, slightly greasier, and a great deal angrier.
She had packed up her trunk and left in the middle of sixth year. Both Dumbledore and her parents had suggested that she leave immediately, without a word of explanation or warning to anyone. She had not had the chance to say goodbye to anyone. She had to save face. It hadn't mattered that much to Lyca. She knew none of the Slytherin girls, or anyone else in her House, would miss her. No one except Severus, she thought, as she watched him glare at the happy, whirling objects about the room, as if they had personally done something to offend him.
Lyca was ingeniously hidden behind Dumbledore's various magical knick-knacks. Regardless, he seemed to distracted to notice, even if she had been in plain sight. He was fervently scribbling on an old looking piece of parchment, using a ratted old book as a makeshift clipboard. His nose was practically touching the paper. It was a habit he had since childhood; something Severus did whenever he found something big and exciting. He would get so engrossed in what he was doing that he wouldn't even notice the ink stains the work left on the tip of his nose.
She had always wondered what had become of him. He probably had a lot of trouble after she left; he would have had no one to talk to. No one to help fight off the perpetual doom and gloom that dominated his psyche, thanks to his horrible excuse for a father. And she could only imagine the kind of torment he would have to endure from Potter and Black without her around to protect him. Lyca shuddered involuntarily. Severus deserved better than that…
He did, however, seemed to have achieved his dream of becoming a Potion Master, and, by the dark green and silver pin on the front of his robes, the head of Slytherin House as well. Lyca's heart swelled with pride, and in the process somehow managed to knock over protruding a book or two from the adjacent bookshelf. They landed on the floor with a loud thunk.
Severus paused, scanning the room for the source of the noise. "You know," he said in a surprisingly rich baritone. "I could easily take away all your House points for breaking into Dumbledore's office. Show yourself."
Lyca smiled and her eyebrows went up. So he thought she was a student, did he? She quickly stood erect, crossed her arms over her chest, and strolled into full view. "Oh really?" she replied. "I would love to see you try."