The transformation was over... until next month. Remus exhaled deeply. His bones were still aching from the shift, and he was still a little shaky, but otherwise he felt fine. Better than ever. Why couldn't he stay in this form all the time?
It was unfair, really, that he only got this body one night a month. And even more unfair that people locked him up. Humans. He had vague memories of wanting to be locked up, but was sure that he wasn't remembering something correctly because that was impossible. Remus was a lot of things, but he wasn't that stupid and self-destructive. He hoped.
Hatred burned. Hot. He needed to attack something, someone, but there was nobody in this cursed place. There never was. He sniffed again, hoping that perhaps there was someone, anyone—just this once!—but there wasn't. It was only him and the walls. And the stairs. And the hatred. And the itching. He was so itchy.
His teeth hurt. He needed something. The itching was just too powerful, and there was nothing in here. Nothing. Not even a tiny rabbit—not that he would eat a rabbit. They looked like they tasted like rope or something. Well, he'd never seen a rabbit. Not in this form. He'd never seen anything in this form—nothing except walls and darkness—and he was so sick of it. He just needed to be let out. That was what he was built for, wasn't it?
It was a curse, to look and act and talk like a human all but one night a month. He lost all control, all sense of being. He couldn't imagine not wanting to attack people. People. He was around people all the time, and he'd never hurt any of them? A lost opportunity! What if he was stuck in here forever? Then what would he do? Oh, now he was angry with himself. He really did remember putting himself in here, and that was the most terrible thing of all—Remus had done this to himself, and there was no way to control that. He could hurt other people all he wanted, but he couldn't fix his own mind. Remus wanted control. More hatred ballooned in his heart, and it was as large and full as the moon itself.
He paced. Around and around and around. He looked up at the full moon through the slats of the window. Howled. That felt good, even though he knew that no one would respond. There were no other werewolves around here, Remus knew. If there had been, they would have gotten him out by now. No werewolf would let one of their own kind be locked up like this. Pure suffering, it was. And he had to do it every single time.
The worst part of it was, there were humans nearby—just a little ways away. But these walls! They were keeping him in!
It was tantalizing. The smell of humans in the air, hearing their voices, but not being able to reach them—Remus' whole face hurt. So much itching. He needed to attack them, somehow, but he couldn't and it was his own fault and he was a terrible werewolf. Everything itched, burned, hurt, and Remus longed for blood between his teeth and being able to sink his claws into something and...
These walls! It was their fault. He ran at them, trying to break them, but he only ended up hitting his head. He howled angrily and ran at another wall, but the same thing happened. They looked so weak! Why wouldn't they break? Or the window! No such luck—he ended up getting a splinter in his paw, even. Pain. Pain shooting into his brain and up his paw. It felt awful, but it relieved the itching a little bit. And Remus would do anything to relieve the itching.
He always ended up in this place—every single time. The itching consumed his every cell and every thought. He needed to attack something. So he went for the armchair—and it helped. A little. If only to feel the stuffing between his claws. Maybe if he closed his eyes hard enough he could imagine it as human flesh... no, it wasn't the same. Remus didn't even know why he needed to attack something so much—it wasn't as if he'd ever done it before. He didn't know what it felt like, but he knew he needed it more than life itself... somehow.
And the itching. It had to relieve the itching. Nothing else would. Remus didn't know how he knew, but he knew.
He sniffed again, and caught a human scent—well, not human, but close enough—from under the bed. He scrabbled with his claws, but there was no human—as he expected. Only two black and scuffed things with thick fabric inside of them. He worried them with his teeth. The lingering scent provided some relief, but not nearly enough.
In fact, the longing was only growing. He scratched at the floor and the walls in pain and frustration. He couldn't. He couldn't go on like this. He scratched at his forepaws, trying to get rid of the itching. He scratched at his chest and back.
Blood, he needed blood. He couldn't even think. Licking his injured body provided some relief, at least. He growled and slashed at the wall and tried to will his body to stop itching because he was so sick of it and it had been hours. Too long to be trapped up in here, itching. It was torture. His paws had something to dig into, at least, and there was slobber in his wounds but he didn't care how much it hurt—he didn't care!—he was just angry and he needed to do something!—and the pain was, at least, a distraction.
What was he expected to do, just lie down for hours upon hours and patiently endure the itching? No. That wasn't possible.
Now his paws were so hurt that he could hardly stand, so he sat down instead. If a human were to enter, he'd need his strength, although he knew that it was futile to hope and that made him angry. He tried to stand up and escape again.
The pain didn't matter. The itching was worse.
And it only got worse and worse all night, as he suffered and hurt and didn't know why he had done this to himself—he was a werewolf, he was meant to be free and to run and to bite and attack! Why didn't he know that in human form? The people in the village away seemed to be mocking him. Remus howled in anger and snapped his jaws. He bit his tongue in the process, and the blood filling his mouth satiated him—at least a little—until it didn't. Nothing got rid of the itching for long.
Hours passed, and the moon went down.
Remus knew what was coming next, and he didn't want it to happen. He wanted to stay in this form, he wanted to keep his claws and teeth and fur, and he didn't want to become a tiny weakling that locked himself up every month. This was an endless cycle, and it was just going to happen all over again come next month. It had happened every single month for years, and Remus was tired of waiting out the itching. He hated it. He roared and slashed and snapped and writhed, but nothing could stop it... the moon went down, and he felt his claws receding and his teeth shrinking and his bones twisting and his muscles flip-flopping inside of him and everything was pain.
And on the way back, he remembered things, one by one. The first thing that came back was his parents. He'd remembered them on the full moon, of course, but only as figures—humans who did things and said things, but Remus hadn't understood why. But now the emotions tied to his parents came flooding back—he remembered that he actually liked them, and he remembered how to empathize. That was the big one. And then Madam Pomfrey... and then his friends. He remembered how to feel actual human feelings. That was a relief.
Then he realized that he didn't want to hurt anyone else. He would never. No one deserved to die just because Remus was itchy and in pain—no, that was ridiculous. He locked himself up for his own good, as well as the good of others. It was as simple as that.
And he was Remus John Lupin: the first werewolf to ever attend Hogwarts. He had a toad named Bufo and far too many poems memorized. His favorite subject in school as of so far was Defense Against the Dark Arts. He had brown hair and hazel eyes. He was eleven years old. He'd known all this before, but now he felt differently about them: they were front and center in his mind, rather than pushed to the back.
And the itching was gone. Remus still remembered the itching, of course. It was still a terrible memory, but now the discomfort wasn't the only thing that bothered Remus—it was the thought of being a destructive creature like that. That hadn't bothered him before, but now it did.
And now Remus' mind was flooding back into its former position, beautifully and wonderfully complex as all minds should be. He could think and feel and empathize like a regular old person.
And Merlin's beard. Everything hurt so much that, even with his newly complex mind, he could hardly think.
But now he was a person again—albeit a very injured person, lying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack and bleeding half to death. The pain receded until Remus was completely numb. He tried to move his fingers and get used to the new form, even though he couldn't feel them moving... but he saw them out of the corner of his eye, and they seemed perfectly human-like to him. Everything felt different now.
This was much better.
He couldn't bear lying on the floor. After all, this was the same floor on which he had lied as a murderous beast. He sat up and scooted towards the wall, leaning on it and breathing heavily. There were tears streaming down his face, but he hadn't been crying. He always had tears in his eyes after a transformation, just from the physical pressure and stress, and he hated it.
Nope. That wasn't allowed: there was no hatred permitted in this form. In through his nose, out through his mouth.
He sensed Madam Pomfrey coming down the corridor, and he wiped off his face as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, his hand was covered in blood, and he only succeeded in smearing it all over his nose and cheeks. He probably looked like something out of a nightmare. And, being a werewolf, he technically was something out of a nightmare.
Madam Pomfrey dashed to Remus' side and collapsed into a kneeling position, wand and silver and Dittany at the ready. "Remus Lupin, if you don't stop sitting up after a full moon then I will personally strap you down!" she said.
"Could you?" Remus mumbled good-naturedly. "If you can restrain me while the full moon is up then I shall forever be in your debt."
"I suppose not," Madam Pomfrey grumbled, rolling the sleeve of his robe up and dabbing silver and Dittany on the wound. "Better than last month?"
"Much," said Remus.
"Good. Here, I'm going to mend your wrist. Snapped in two. This might hurt a bit."
It didn't, of course. Remus was still very numb, and he was grateful for it. "Thanks," he murmured, disturbed by all the blood in his mouth.
"Just doing my job. Happy New Year's, by the way."
"Oh, right," said Remus. "1972. What a wonderful year so far."
"Watch your sarcasm. I suppose you want to walk?"
"Please," said Remus. "Could you h-" He accidentally inhaled the blood pooling in his mouth and immediately started to cough. "Sor- sorry," he said, still hacking his lungs out. "Wr-wrong p-pipe..."
Madam Pomfrey waited patiently. "Would you like some water?" she asked.
Remus held his cupped hands out, even though it made him feel very uncivilized. Madam Pomfrey conjured some cool water, and Remus sipped, hoping to get the taste out of his mouth. Ugh, there was fur on his hands. Wolves didn't shed much, but a bit of loose fur was inevitable after a night of scratching up his skin. "I can walk," Remus said once he had cleared his throat one last time. "Would you help me up?"
Madam Pomfrey seemed reluctant to let him walk (she always was), but she didn't argue. "Of course."
So Remus hobbled back to the castle, holding on to Madam Pomfrey's arm tightly. He had two unsteady human feet instead of four. He had flat, small teeth instead of sharp incisors. He had no fur, and no snout, and no tail. His senses were dulled considerably. The nightmare was finally over.
Until next month.
Now he was lying in his bed in the Hospital Wing, gritting his teeth against the pain as Madam Pomfrey fervently apologized.
"This is going to hurt, I'm afraid—I'm sorry—I should have been more careful—oh, that doesn't look good at all. I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault," said Remus, teeth still gritted. "You're helping."
"No, I'm not." Madam Pomfrey sighed in a frustrated sort of way. "We have to stop for today. I'll work on stemming the bleeding more when you're asleep."
"I don't mind staying awake," said Remus. "This is relaxing."
Madam Pomfrey gave him an odd look.
"Better than last night, anyhow," he mumbled. Truth be told, he liked listening to Madam Pomfrey's voice and feeling the cool pillow on his head and being back in the Hospital Wing after a long night. Even though it hurt. But it probably would be better to get some sleep, now that he thought about it. He hadn't been able to sleep the night before—not with all the itching and murderous intent.
"Potion's to your left," she offered. "Hopefully, you'll be mostly fixed by the time you wake up."
"I have no doubt," said Remus, draining the potion and observing his thoughts leaving his head as he slumped back onto his pillow.
"Madam Pomfrey, I'm bored."
"Get some sleep."
"I just woke up!"
"I don't care."
"Madam Pomfreyyyyy."
"Read a book."
"There's nothing to read! I finished the one that I brought."
"Then go to sleep."
"Madam Pomfrey!"
"I don't know what you want me to do, Lupin."
"Can we talk?" Remus sat up and leaned against the headboard. He'd been lonely and quiet for too long now that his friends were gone, and he really wanted to have a discussion with someone... about anything, really. He didn't care what. "There's no one else in the Hospital Wing, and we still need to talk about that Hogsmeade trip that Mum told me about..."
Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips, considering. "If you'll eat another slice of toast."
"It's a deal," said Remus, and Madam Pomfrey handed him some dry toast. His stomach was still a little flip-floppy, but he nibbled it obediently. Remus was always ravenous after a transformation after he got past the initial nausea. "So what's happening?"
"I was going to meet your mother in Hogsmeade. I suggested I bring you along. We were only planning on walking around for a bit and then having a Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. Are you feeling up to it?"
"Absolutely!" said Remus. He was more excited than he even could have imagined to see his parents. "But..."
"Yes?"
"It's not fair, is it? None of the other students get to visit their parents. Maybe I should just stay here."
"Nonsense. You're staying at the castle for medical reasons, not by your own choice. A special accommodation is most certainly in order."
Remus hadn't thought of it that way. "Thank you so much."
"It's no problem at all, Mr. Lupin. Even though you act much older, you're still eleven. It's only natural that you should want to see your parents. I must say, I sort of expected you to be against the visit."
"Why?"
"I don't know. You just seem too grown-up and independent. I've no idea what I was thinking. You've finished your toast?"
"Yes, Madam Pomfrey."
"Good. Now go to sleep."
"What? I thought you said that we could talk!"
"We did. Now go to sleep."
"But I just slept!"
"I still wouldn't be satisfied if you slept all day, seeing as you were awake most all day yesterday and went through an extremely strenuous event. Your body needs to recuperate. Sleep, and let it repair itself."
Remus groaned. "Sleep is so boring."
"I'm sure last night was exciting enough," Madam Pomfrey shot back, and Remus winced.
Exciting was not the right word. Exciting was reserved for parties and Defense Against the Dark Arts and Quidditch. Exciting was not the word used to describe having one's human emotions and morals stripped away, leaving only a murderous, bloodthirsty beast. Exciting was not the word for the pain that he endured, the horrible suffering hours spent watching and waiting, the pure anger while the moon was high, the itching and longing for something that disgusted him as soon as morning came, and then the hours spent in a violent, thoughtless rage, not even caring about the pain... no, that was not exciting. Did Madam Pomfrey honestly think that he liked it? That it was exciting for him to want to murder people? Did she think that it was always in his nature? It was monsters like Greyback who found it exciting. Not Remus.
"Remus? Oh dear, Remus, I'm sorry," said Madam Pomfrey. "I didn't mean to go out of bounds. If there's something that you don't want me to joke about, you need only tell me."
Remus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It hadn't offended him or anything; he'd only been worried for a second about what Madam Pomfrey thought of it all. If it had been Professor Questus, he wouldn't have apologized at all. But still, Remus wanted to clear it up a bit. He was a bit sensitive about being accused of liking it... it hit a bit too close to home. After all, he had liked it... at the time, but not during the day. Never during the day. "You know I hate it, right?" he said pleadingly. "I would never look forward to it or anything. I couldn't."
Madam Pomfrey's voice grew firm. "Of course I do. And of course you don't. I was only trying to say that you definitely weren't bored."
Remus smiled. "That I was not. I'm going to sleep now."
Madam Pomfrey looked as if she wanted to prod him more, but she did not.
Remus was asleep in ten seconds flat.
Now he was awake again. Christmas holidays were over. He was in the common room with James and Sirius and Peter. They were all laughing, and so was Remus. He didn't know what he was laughing at, exactly, but it was so much fun to laugh with the three of them that he didn't care.
Suddenly, he looked out the window.
A full moon, bright and white and deathly pale. Remus had wondered why he'd been so ill all day. Why he was shaking like a leaf in the wind. Why everyone kept giving him odd looks. Why his bones hurt so much that he could barely breathe. He was such an idiot for failing to realize it sooner.
"Get out, go away!" he said. "Lock the door, get Professor Dumbledore or Professor Questus or... Get out!"
"Why?" said James, but it was too late and everything hurt and then...
A long, painful, horrible sequence of events occurred that Remus could not even begin to think about.
Someone touched his lower arm, and Remus sat up straight in bed, his heart pounding. It was Madam Pomfrey. "What...?" he whispered, clutching at his hammering heart. The images were flooding his head, and he closed his eyes, hoping to mentally Scourgify his brain of the dream... "What time is it?" he half-whimpered. If the full moon was coming up, then Madam Pomfrey would tell him. She always did.
Madam Pomfrey didn't seem to hear him. "You were having a nightmare," said Madam Pomfrey. "It's five-thirty in the afternoon. Are you ready for supper?"
"If it's five-thirty, then I should be getting ready to go, not eating supper!" he said, swiping at his eyes. This was embarrassing.
"The full moon was last night, Lupin," said Madam Pomfrey, her eyebrows crinkled. "Are you all right?"
"Last... night?" That made sense. After all, it didn't feel like a full moon. "Oh. Okay."
The images would not leave his brain. His mouth filled up with something—blood? No, only saliva. He threw off the covers, ran to the lavatory, and immediately vomited into the toilet.
Madam Pomfrey knocked on the door. "Remus? Are you all right?"
"Yes," he called. He was huddled up against the wall, hugging his knees with a ferocity that he hadn't thought possible. "I'm not coming out."
"You'll probably be more comfortable in your bed," she said.
"I like it in here. Good lighting."
"Students in the Hospital Wing get sick all the time. It's nothing to be embarrassed about."
"I'm not embarrassed."
"I have students do it on my shoes at least twice a year."
"Good for you."
"Remus Lupin, you open the door right now."
"No, thank you."
"You're acting like a five-year-old."
"Good. Never got the chance when I actually was that age."
Madam Pomfrey paused at that, but Remus was too distraught to even regret the stupid, self-pitying comment. "At least tell me what's wrong," she pleaded.
"No, thank you."
"That wasn't an option."
"I don't want to talk about it!"
"Don't make me use magic, Lupin."
"I need some time alone."
"And, as your matron, I need to make sure you're okay."
"I'm fine."
"That's another cap in the jar."
"Madam Pomfrey! You asked!"
"I didn't ask, actually. Alohomora."
Remus closed his eyes tightly and gripped his knees so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "I need some time," he mumbled.
"I know," said Madam Pomfrey, and made a face as she crouched to sit next to him. Remus suddenly realized that there were tears soaking into the collar of his shirt, and he tried to wipe them away without her noticing. "Just the dream or something else?"
"Just the dream," he said. His voice was hoarse, and he hated it. "Hadn't had one for a while; it surprised me." He couldn't stand Madam Pomfrey so close to him, after what had just happened in his dreams. "Could you... move back, a little?"
Madam Pomfrey obliged, but not by much. "Are these dreams still about you attacking your friends? Not many things are so awful that they upset one's stomach in such a manner. Especially yours, Remus. You've proven over and over that you most certainly do not have a weak stomach."
"I can't talk about it," said Remus, already feeling a little ill again. "Not right now. Please back up a little more, Madam Pomfrey."
Madam Pomfrey got closer instead, and Remus winced. "My job is to heal you. That's difficult to do when I can't diagnose you with anything in particular."
"It was a nightmare," said Remus. "What else do you need to know?"
"I have no idea why you're so insistent on dealing with everything all by yourself, but you need to let me help or I'll go insane."
"Yeah, well, 'going insane' is what happens to me every single month, and it won't kill you," said Remus acidly. "Just... give me some time to compose myself. Please?"
"If that's what you need... but please do so in your bed. I just want to keep an eye on you. Leaving students completely alone in this state is not safe."
Remus nodded and gulped in some air. He looked at Madam Pomfrey, whose grey eyes were far too pitying for his tastes. "Want help standing up?" she asked, but Remus shook his head fiercely.
"Please don't touch me," he said, using the wall to help him stand. He walked out of the lavatory and back to his bed, burrowing under the sheets and keeping his eyes wide open. He was not going to fall back asleep. And he did not want Madam Pomfrey watching him.
"Would you like a Calming Draught?" said Madam Pomfrey. "It'll help, I promise."
"No," said Remus sharply, and he leaned back onto his pillow and closed his eyes. He heard Madam Pomfrey draw a deep breath in, but then another student entered the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey hurried off to tend to him.
Thirty minutes passed.
Madam Pomfrey returned to hover over Remus, and he turned away from her. He pulled out his Potions book.
A very long time passed. He finally sat up. "I reckon I'm ready for supper," he said.
Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Would you like to talk?"
"No. Could we forget that this ever happened, actually?"
"Absolutely not."
"I thought as much," said Remus mournfully as he munched on a plain cheese sandwich.
AN: Two sad chapters in a row :( Would just like to point out that writing Remus as a wolf is HARD. I think I drafted this chapter three times!