John Questus thought himself to be a reasonable man.
He was a realist, to be sure. He was clever. He was quick. He knew plenty of spells and was a wonderful duellist. Downright brilliant. And that wasn't arrogance; that was true.
But whenever he thought of Remus Lupin, the world no longer seemed reasonable. And Questus hated that. Reasonable worlds were his favorite type.
The boy in question was nothing special. Overly sensitive. Annoying at times. Prone to apologizing over nothing. Somewhat self-centered. Overall, he was the type of person that Questus would try to stay away from. (Dumbledore said that Questus, as a teacher, wasn't supposed to like any particular student more or less than another... but that was rubbish.) If circumstances had been different, then Questus wouldn't have cared one way or another about Remus Lupin. Wouldn't have given him a second thought, even.
But Questus, who had duelled Fenrir Greyback himself, who had encountered tens of werewolves, who had watched people die at the hands of the beasts and had seen the danger that they posed, had never thought before that a child could be a werewolf. He had known, of course, in his head. But it had never registered until he saw the Lupin boy walk up to the Sorting Hat and take a seat. Questus had consciously thought the words that kid is a werewolf, and they'd seemed unbelievable. He still had trouble believing them, even now.
This boy, this painfully thin and nervous boy with the brown hair and the hazel eyes and the oversized robes, could turn into a literal monster. It was unthinkable, really—and Questus, who made it a point in life to think the unthinkable, could not bear it. Besides, he was horribly curious.
Questus pored over rare photos of werewolves for hours, staring at their every feature and trying to see Remus Lupin. He could not. The boy whose hair was always neatly brushed and long enough to slightly cover his eyes could not have thick, matted fur once a month. The child who was too thin for his age could not grow to be larger than the average man. This shy and relatively intelligent wizard could not fantasize about killing humans while the moon was full and wound himself in an insatiable appetite for blood. It didn't make sense.
How did it happen? Where was the monster inside Remus Lupin hiding? What even was this kid? He didn't get it.
He tried to figure it out, but even after hours upon hours of research and speculation, he simply could not. And what was Questus even trying to figure out? He didn't know. He just felt this innate desire—his Slytherin ambition coming out—to understand. He didn't know why. It was like an itch that he simply couldn't scratch—the kind of itch that one scratches until one's skin is raw and painful, but it still itches no matter what one does... and now that he had started scratching it, he simply couldn't stop.
It's the Slytherin ambition, he kept telling himself. I already came up with a goal, and no matter how much I don't understand the goal myself, I must complete it. I have no other choice.
And Questus didn't even like Lupin. He really, really didn't. Lupin was downright annoying most of the time, but Dumbledore had insisted that Questus apologize for sternly lecturing him after class on that first day (which was ridiculous), and Dumbledore had begged that he help the kid because he was the Defense teacher (which was ridiculous), and besides, Lupin reminded Questus of someone in particular that he hadn't seen in a very long time (which was even more ridiculous).
So Questus spoke with Remus Lupin. He read nearly all the books in the library on werewolves. He read and re-read the paragraphs that Newt Scamander, Emerett Picardy, and Alexander Adamson had written on the subject. He watched his encounters with werewolves in his Pensieve and tried again and again to see Lupin in their eyes. But nothing helped. Every time he talked to Lupin, the boy confused him even more. There were so many things that Questus didn't understand about the way that Lupin's mind worked, and he just felt more and more helplessly confused every time he spoke with the kid.
And during Lupin's detention! Questus still couldn't figure it out. Why was Lupin so self-loathing, if he believed that he had human morals? Why was Lupin so jumpy, yet still had the courage to ask Questus whether or not he thought that werewolves should be executed? And he was so quiet, but still he randomly shocked Questus with a very dry and slightly morbid sense of humor that Questus had only ever heard before in one person—and Questus was not shocked easily. And how on earth could this shy and chronically nervous child notice his unintentional manipulation and then call him out on it?
Even though Questus didn't know Lupin very well, everything that he did felt out-of-character; almost paradoxical. Where were these bursts of confidence and moments of intense self-hatred coming from? Was it because he was part animal? Was it because he was dangerous? Or was it a human trait—just part of his personality?
Questus wasn't sure he'd ever find out.
Anyway. Now it was the full moon, and Questus had a very good view of it from his office: he'd been staring at it, drinking tea, and reading his students' essays all night. They were mostly fine, although not detailed whatsoever. Really, though, what more could he expect from first-years? Most of them were pretty dense anyway. Dumbledore had told Questus that he was marking the first-year essays too harshly, but Questus didn't really care. He was the teacher, not Dumbledore, and he was going to do as he pleased—even if it meant failing students who might have gotten an E from characters like Slughorn.
He came to Lupin's essay—this was the one that he'd been wanting to read, but he'd saved it for last so that he would have something to look forward to.
How to Avoid Being Bitten by a Werewolf and What to Do If You Are, by Remus Lupin.
Creative title, Questus thought dryly, if not formatted incorrectly. He scanned the first few paragraphs, and it was all the typical information. Questus supposed that Lupin was trying not to stand out. Fat chance of that. Questus suspected that the kid knew full well that his essay would be the most interesting and carefully-read of the lot. Don't go out on the full moon... check the lunar charts before you leave the house... always carry your wand... don't go to secluded areas like forests... don't travel alone...
Lupin had added a comment there that nearly made Questus spit out his tea. This is, of course, because traveling with a friend decreases one's likelihood of being bitten immensely. Every person that you travel with cuts one's chances of being bitten in half, because perhaps the werewolf will go after one of them instead. It is most beneficial to travel with people bigger and stronger than you, seeing as most werewolves are stupid and will often go for the biggest of the group—the one that is most likely to fight back. It all depends, I suppose, on how willing one is to sacrifice one's friends for his or her own well-being.
Formal essays shouldn't include the first-person, and using the word "this" without a noun afterwards was frowned upon. Not to mention the pronoun switches. Questus would take off points for all of those things, of course, but at least the information was correct. Very good grammar, as always (well, for a first-year)... and also a dry and morbid sense of humor. That bit had surprised Questus—not because it was particularly funny, but merely because it was so unexpected.
It had been the same way in the last Defense class. "I'm not stupid enough to be the first one bitten by a werewolf," Lupin had said. He'd nearly driven the entire class into chaos, even though they hadn't understood the subtleties behind his words. And yes, maybe Questus shouldn't have put him on the spot. He'd done it as an experiment, mainly—he'd just wanted to see how Lupin would react. And the results were (as always) unexpected. Why were all of Lupin's werewolf-related jokes so ridiculously self-deprecating? It was funny, Questus decided. Very humorous. He continued reading, this time a lot more closely in the hope to catch another joke.
I'm afraid I don't understand the assignment, Professor Questus. Your exact words in class were to write an essay on "what to do if you are bitten by a werewolf". It would be very clear if you had used the third-person ("what one should do if one is bitten by a werewolf"), but the second-person confuses me. If I were bitten by a werewolf, then it would not be cause for concern whatsoever. So I suppose what I would do is use some powdered silver and Dittany on the wound, get plenty of bed rest, and then reprimand myself sharply for being out on the full moon.
Then the essay ended. Questus snorted and took a sip of tea. It was a clever way to get out of doing the assignment. He suspected that Lupin had added that bit because he didn't want to relive certain memories, which was an annoying trait in Questus' eyes. But it had been funny and brave enough on its own that Questus couldn't take off points for it, even though Lupin had used the first-person. It was certainly accurate, and it was Questus' own fault for using the improper wording. He decided to give Lupin a low E—points off for improper transitions in the first bit and very long-winded sentences, as well as a few minor things. Lupin was good at research (and clearly knew all about the topic; far more than Questus did himself), but he was only average at actually organizing and writing essays.
The night stretched into day, and Questus saw the beginnings of a sunrise. He imagined Lupin was transforming back now. Questus had most of the day off today—only double Defense in the afternoon. Fourth-years. That class, Questus remembered with a groan, had no sense whatsoever. Less than the first-years, and that was really saying something.
Suddenly, he heard his door open and a familiar voice. "John? I need your help."
Questus turned around. "Pomfrey? What is it?" Wasn't she supposed to be tending to Lupin? According to Questus' calculations, he'd only transformed back a couple of minutes ago.
"What do you think it is?" Pomfrey snapped. Her voice was getting higher and more hysterical every word that she spoke. "I didn't know who to come to—Albus is gone and Minerva is teaching and I knew that you had two free periods. It was the full moon last night. I know that you know; you always keep track of them."
"So where's Lupin?"
"In the house! The... the Shrieking Shack... I came in for more potions and to get help and I don't know what to do..."
Questus rolled his eyes. "Calm yourself, Pomfrey. That's not a very good bedside manner, and you won't help him by panicking."
"Shut up!" said Pomfrey, and Questus raised an eyebrow in surprise at her harsh tone. "You don't know what it's like! I'm so done with seeing this... I can't handle it. There's another girl in the Hospital Wing who drank a potion and needs to be transferred to St. Mungo's. Someone needs to take her. I don't have enough people and he's hurt and I'm so lost..."
"Then go with her to St. Mungo's. I'll stay with Lupin." Oh, this was perfect. Questus had never seen Lupin directly after the full moon before; perhaps it would satiate his curiosity. He was really excited now.
Pomfrey didn't seem to share his sentiments. "No! I'll do that. Remus is... really hurt today. He requires a lot of attention..."
"I assure you: I've done the research."
"Of course you have. Can't let private situations stay private. No, you should take the girl. Amelia Gardner. She needs to go now. You go help her. I'll... go back and tend to Remus..." Pomfrey sounded a little choked up.
Questus made a face. He knew Amelia Gardner's mother—she was an Auror. He really didn't want to have to confront the woman again now that he'd been sacked. That was just embarrassing. "No. You're not acting like yourself and you'll upset him. You'll cause more harm than good. I'll help him, and you help the girl. It's perfect. Come back here when her parents show up, and Floo me if you need to. I have ample medical experience from my Auror training, you know."
"But... but he..." Pomfrey seemed to be slowly losing her sanity. "Fine. Please. I'm sorry."
"Don't needlessly apologize. You sound like him."
Pomfrey let a sort of watery chuckle escape her lips. "Okay. I have most of the potions set up in the Hospital Wing already. Disillusionment Charm when coming back to the castle... heal the worst of it before you move him..." Pomfrey thrust two small bottles into his hands. "Silver and Dittany in this one, Blood-Replenishing in this one. I'll Floo you from St. Mungo's with more instructions once I've calmed down and once he's... once he's back... oh, what am I doing? I'm being so irresponsible."
Questus tended to agree, but he wouldn't say so. Not when this was working out so perfectly to his advantage. "I'll manage. It'll be fine."
"He's unconscious. He's never been like that before. He's always conscious and sitting up. I'm so sorry; I couldn't wake him up and..."
"Oh, stop talking and go take that idiotic girl who drank the potion to St. Mungo's. Do try to calm down. Werewolves aren't suicidal during the full moon. They never kill themselves... which is unfortunate, depending on the werewolf. He'll be fine."
"You... you don't know..." Pomfrey trailed off and shook her head. "Against my better judgement, fine." She took a shuddering breath and then marched back to the Hospital Wing.
Questus studied the two bottles in his hands. He did hope that this would end the itching in his mind once and for all.
He arrived at the Shrieking Shack and poked the knot at the base. Sure enough, the tree froze in place. That was interesting. It was a good security measure for keeping people out, but he seriously doubted that the tree would keep the werewolf in if push came to shove. Nevertheless, Questus trusted Dumbledore's charms. There was no way that the scrawny Lupin boy—werewolf or no—could break through the protective charms of Albus Dumbledore himself.
Questus walked through the tunnel. The ceiling was low, so he had to duck. It smelt strongly of blood, and Questus wondered how much it bothered Lupin, whose senses were far beyond that of a human. He'd have to ask him later.
He arrived in the Shack, and the first thing he noticed was a small puddle of blood that he was stepping in. That was unfortunate. He looked around. A piano. Furniture. Deep gashes in the walls and floor. Everything was torn up, red-soaked armchair stuffing covered the floor, and there were obvious teeth marks in some of the furnishing. Lupin did that, thought Questus, slightly impressed in spite of himself.
He looked to the left and noticed Lupin, who was lying in a puddle of his own blood and completely unconscious. Questus grimaced and squatted to the floor. The kid's robes were positively soaked. His hair was red and crusted. Even in unconsciousness, his eyebrows were scrunched up slightly in an expression of pain. Questus rolled up his own sleeves neatly. This was going to take a while.
He'd seen worse, of course. He'd seen some very nasty curses in his time as an Auror. He'd seen people endure things that no one should have to endure. He'd seen blood before, of course, in much larger quantities. It was unsettling, yes, but it was nothing new. Wizards could withstand so much more than Muggles. And Questus, who had cared for many of his fallen wizarding comrades in the Auror department, knew exactly what to do.
Lupin was completely limp, but he wasn't very difficult to move. He seemed to be the same weight as a Pygmy Puff. Questus vanished as much blood as he could in order to work more easily, healed some wounds, fixed a few broken bones, and then poured a few drops of silver and Dittany over every wound that he could find. It was remarkable, the way that the wounds immediately sealed themselves. Lupin's description of the effects had been correct, indeed.
Questus continued his work until he was finally satisfied. Lupin was still an odd grey color and seemed to be drained of life, but he still had a pulse and wasn't covered in blood anymore. Questus would've made a pretty good Healer, he reckoned. He looked at the large slat between the boards of the wall that seemed to resemble a window and saw that the sun was quite high in the sky—he rolled up his sleeves once more, which had fallen while he was healing Lupin. Now he grimaced and Vanished the blood off of his sleeves. Why was wizarding clothing so difficult to work in? Muggle clothes were much more practical for situations such as these.
He looked up at the sun again. It was time to get the boy back to the castle, and then he'd figure out what to do from there.
Just as he was raising his wand to Disillusion them both, Lupin's finger moved a bit. Questus realized that the boy was waking up—he figured that he should probably wait a few minutes.
Unfortunately, John Questus was not known for his patience. "Rennervate," he said, pointing his wand at Lupin, and the werewolf's eyes flew open unceremoniously.
"What... Professor Questus?"
"You're surprisingly coherent."
"Where's... s'Madam Pomfrey? And what...? Who...?"
"I take it back. You're not coherent. The full moon was last night; you were unconscious when Pomfrey came to fetch you. She had to take another child to St. Mungo's. It was a busy morning, so she put me in charge of you." Lupin put both his palms on the floor and pushed himself into a sitting position. Questus was duly impressed. "I don't think that you should be doing that, Lupin, but I'll let it slide. Don't tell Pomfrey that I let you, though; she'll murder me in cold blood."
"S'fine, s'not like she can stop me... either." Slurred speech. Heavy eyelids. Questus half-expected him to lose consciousness again.
"Hm. Are you in pain at all?"
"No." Lupin still looked a little bewildered that his typical matron was not there to see him back to the castle. "Numb. It'll wear... wear off-f. This... s'never happens. I'm always... con..."
"Conscious," supplied Questus, who knew from personal experience that that particular sound was difficult to make when one was deprived of blood. "We should probably get you back to the castle before it wears off, then... Lupin?" Lupin's face had rearranged into a very queer expression.
"Too late for that." He bit his lip. "It's fine, I'm fine... The numbness doesn't... last for very long anyway. I'm f-fine." He very obviously was not fine.
"Liar," said Questus. "Stop biting your lip. I don't think you can stand to lose any more blood." Lupin obeyed. His eyes were screwed shut and his hands were shaking fiercely. Probably was going to pass out at any minute, Questus figured. "I'm not exactly sure how I'm going to get you back to the castle. Don't think I can levitate you while you're moving around like that. Ooh, I could Stun you. Unconsciousness would be a good alternative to the pain, hm? Go ahead and lie down so that I don't accidentally blast you into a wall..."
"No... I can walk," Lupin squeaked.
"No, you can't."
"I can," he insisted. "I do every time. Help me up."
"Trust me, you're not going to last very long on your feet. I've seen these effects before."
Lupin's tone got a little more fierce. "And I've lived through them. Help me up, I can walk."
The tone took Questus a little off-guard. "Fine. Okay." He pulled Lupin to his feet, and he was surprisingly steady. Questus cast the Disillusionment charm and led him back to the castle. Lupin was mumbling something, but Questus couldn't quite make it out. He leaned on Questus heavily, and let out a pained gasp every time they rounded a corner. His grip on Questus' arm was positively deathly.
Questus, again, was impressed. He wasn't quite sure whether pain tolerance was a werewolf thing or just an inevitable trait of a person who went through this every single month, but he wasn't sure that even he, former-Auror John Questus, could walk all the way across the Hogwarts grounds and to the Hospital Wing after so much blood loss and injury. And he never would have expected Lupin to do so, who was small and scrawny and weak and seemed to lack the willpower necessary to force himself to walk through pain.
Questus supposed that he didn't lack willpower, after all. That was interesting. Questus would have to write that down at some point when his hands were free.
They arrived back in the Hospital Wing, and Questus let go of Lupin without thinking to open the door. He heard a crash and then a surprised yelp. Oops. "All right, Lupin?"
"Fine. Caught myself on the wall."
Questus reached out and somehow found Lupin's shoulder, which was disturbingly wet. He led him to Pomfrey's office and swiftly cast the counter-charm. Lupin's face was very pale, in stark contrast with the blood on his arm—which was soaking through his robes at an alarming rate. Lupin collapsed on the bed and started breathing heavily. "I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing; it's getting annoying. It's not like you can do anything about it. Now, how are you feeling?"
"Living the dream," said Lupin. "How about you?"
There it was again: the sarcastic sense of humor that was so unexpected and random. Two seconds ago, Lupin was apologizing for... well, Questus wasn't sure what. Now he was responding to a serious question with a biting remark. Biting. Questus snorted at his own joke, realizing too late that it seemed like he was laughing at Lupin. "None of that, now," he said sternly, hoping to discourage Lupin from the idea that he thought insensitive, sarcastic remarks were funny.
He did. But that was besides the point.
"Sorry, sir," Lupin said, seemingly in an attempt at professionalism. Which was funny, seeing as Questus had just seen the boy seemingly bleeding to death. They weren't going to achieve professionalism now.
"Lie down and let me fix your arm."
Lupin did, and Questus got to work rolling up his sleeve. The wound was on his upper arm, which explained why Questus had missed it. He noticed a rather large bite mark on Lupin's shoulder and grew curious, but he didn't think that he would get a straight answer if he mentioned it at the moment. He'd ask later.
Lupin was mumbling something again. "They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care; they pursued it with forks and hope; they threatened its life with a railway-share; they charmed it with smiles and soap..."
Well. Spouting nonsense in the name of blood loss was one thing. Rhyming and rhythmic nonsense was something entirely different. "Come again?" He glanced at Lupin, who had stopped mumbling. He'd fainted again.
Questus grumbled to himself. He wasn't sure how he was going to make it to his afternoon class in time if Lupin kept insisting on passing out.
"John? John? Are you in here?" That was Pomfrey's voice, coming from the fireplace. Great, just what Questus needed: a prudish and overly emotional matron prodding him half to death. He stalked over the the fireplace and gave her a disdainful look.
"I'm busy, Pomfrey."
"I really shouldn't have left. The girl's parents are in Greece on vacation, and the Healers haven't had much luck contacting them. I'm her acting guardian, and she's extremely distraught. I can't leave her alone. I'm so sorry..."
"Stop that. It's only been... what, twenty minutes? We're fine."
"Remus? He's..."
"Fine. Absolutely fine."
"May I speak with him?"
"He's not exactly conscious at the moment."
There was a pause. Pomfrey's eyes were comically wide. "He's been unconscious... the whole time?"
"No. Woke up, walked back to the castle. Lied down. Then he passed out again. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do..."
"That's not normal!" Pomfrey was sounding hysterical again. "He never passes out! He was doing it all of yesterday, too! He's always conscious when I come to get him, he usually can't sleep until I give him something for the pain, and you. Let. Him. Walk?!"
"He told me that he walks back every time."
"This isn't every time! He's unconscious! I am coming right back there and making sure that you don't accidentally kill him with your careless attitude! He's not a trained Auror! He's eleven!"
"An eleven-year-old who can do more than most trained Aurors can. Telling you, Pomfrey, I've been mildly impressed as of far."
"I don't care! You come here this instant so that we can switch places..."
"You said that the stupid girl in hospital is distraught. Does she really need me there? Of all people? I can't help with distraught people. I'd make them cry. Already made a few seventh-years cry this year."
"Well, I'm sure Remus will be distraught too when he wakes up! He's probably scarred for life from walking back to the castle with you!"
Questus tutted. "That kid is stronger than he looks. Besides, he's already been awake, remember? And he wasn't distraught. Well, not really. Mostly confused."
"I don't care! Get over here!"
Questus had no intention of doing that, and he knew exactly how to cut right to the heart of the matter and get Pomfrey off his case. "You think it's wise for me to leave Lupin alone like you did this morning?"
Silence.
"That's what I thought. I've brought fellow Aurors back from the brink of death. I know what I'm doing. And he's fine. So relax, for goodness' sake—I'm sure he doesn't want you fretting."
Pomfrey calmed a little, but the look of anger did not leave her face. "He'd better be back on his feet when I come back."
"I'm sure he will. With or without my help."
Pomfrey shot him one last dirty look and then left the fireplace.
Questus rubbed the bridge of his nose and went to attend to the werewolf. Why did people always have to go and make simple things complicated?
AN: This arc right here is pretty pivotal in a couple of ways—it's actually going to last a few chapters, so hang in there. Writing this man is just too much fun.