Remus's classes were all going great until his very last one of the week, Defense Against the Dark Arts.
The class's professor, Professor Byrne, was a tall man in his thirties with long dark hair and a tight face. He paced across the front of the room as the students came in and took their seats. Strewn around the walls were pictures and diagrams demonstrating various curses and protections against them, as well as anatomy charts for different Dark creatures. One of these charts, Remus noticed very quickly, depicted a half-transformed werewolf.
"Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Professor Byrne. "In this class, you will learn to protect yourself from wizards and creatures who wish you harm. The magical world is full of wonder and beauty, of course; but evil is present in equal amounts, and it is my job to prepare you for it."
He cleared his throat and began to read names off of his attendance roll. Halfway through, he stopped abruptly and glanced up, his dark eyes flitting warily across the classroom. "Remus Lupin," he said, his voice suddenly different, almost a growl.
His roommates heard the change, twisting around in their seats to look at Remus confusedly. For a second Remus considered not saying anything; he could make up a different name, pretend to be a transfer student or something. But he knew with a sinking feeling in his chest that Professor Byrne would find out the truth soon enough, and then things would be even worse for him. So Remus raised his hand, looking down into his lap as he did.
It was the first time since he'd arrived at Hogwarts that the reality of what Remus was had hit him, how his true self was viewed by everyone else. All his other professors had made no show of learning that he was the werewolf student; most hadn't even batted an eye. Remus had almost started to think that all his father's warnings about how horribly wizards viewed werewolves, the warnings that justified the Lupins moving from house to house throughout his childhood, had been exaggerated. But no, his father had been right all along—Remus was a Dark creature like the ones Professor Byrne had spent his career teaching his students to fight against, and he was not at all welcome in his classroom.
"What did you do to piss off the professor, Re?" James asked as soon as they were out of class. "Our first class, and he already can't stand you—I'm impressed." Remus didn't answer; he sort of felt like he was going to throw up.
And then it was September fifth, the day of the full moon. Remus's senses always went haywire when the moon was this close; his vision dulled, and noises and smells were amplified until they consumed him. It was something he'd been able to deal with well enough in the small Welsh villages he'd lived in with his parents, but here at Hogwarts, it was overwhelming. He only lasted about five minutes in the Great Hall for dinner before he had to excuse himself. "I feel sick," he muttered to his roommates; "I think I'm going to go lie down."
"You look sick, mate," Sirius observed. "You look like you'll pass out just climbing the stairs."
"I'll be fine," Remus promised. He always felt frail right before the full moon, and sometimes dizzy like he'd lost a lot of blood—but he'd never passed out. His body always managed to keep him conscious through all of the agony.
Entering the quiet dormitory at the top of Gryffindor Tower, Remus let out a sigh of relief. He gave himself a couple of minutes to rest, sitting on the edge of his bed with his eyes shut; then he got up to make his final preparations for the night. Into a small duffel bag he stuffed a set of comfortable clothes for the next day and a few books to read while he recovered from his transformation.
He slung the bag over his shoulder and headed to the door, but stopped when a thought occurred to him: his roommates might wonder what happened to him if he disappeared without a trace in the middle of the night. They might get worried; they'd certainly been worried about him over the past few days. It was a wonderful thought, to consider that someone other than his parents would ever care about him enough to worry. So he took a quill and strip of parchment and scribbled a quick note to leave on his bed: Felt sick, went down to hospital wing. Don't worry.
He met a slight woman with braided blonde hair at the entrance to the school hospital wing, just as he'd been instructed. As he approached, her stern face seemed to soften, and her mouth stretched into a small smile. She glanced over Remus, taking in his pallor and weakened limbs, and her eyes filled with pity. Remus wasn't sure how much he liked the pity, but at least this woman wasn't afraid of him.
"Hello, dear," she said, reaching out a hand. "I'm Madam Pomfrey, the school matron."
"Remus," Remus said, shaking her hand. Madam Pomfrey took his duffel bag and rushed it inside the hospital wing, then returned to lead Remus out onto the school grounds.
"Did you eat a good dinner?" Pomfrey asked him. Remus nodded, even though he'd barely eaten anything. He was never hungry before his transformations, only during them.
"Well, Dumbledore's told you about the tree, I suppose," Pomfrey said, pointing towards the Whomping Willow they were approaching. It was waving its limbs threateningly, ready to smack down anyone who got too close.
Remus nodded. "He said it protects the passage to where I'll be staying?"
"Exactly," Pomfrey confirmed. "You'll see." When they reached the tree, Pomfrey quickly looked around to make sure no students were in sight; then she grabbed a long stick off the ground, reached under the Willow's branches, and prodded a knot at the base of its trunk. Immediately the limbs went still, freezing in place; Remus gasped.
Madam Pomfrey led him up to the trunk and down a narrow passageway that reached underneath it. It opened into a dark, quiet tunnel; Madam Pomfrey lit up her wand and gestured for Remus to follow her down it.
The tunnel was long and narrow and cold. The chill affected Remus more severely in his weakened state, and by the time they reached the end of it his teeth were chattering. Madam Pomfrey threw her sweater over his shoulders as she helped him up out of the passageway and into a darkened little shack.
The shack's windows and front door had all been boarded up, leaving no way inside other than the tunnel under the Willow. Pomfrey gave him a quick tour of its rooms: there were tables and sofas and even a bed upstairs, as if Remus would be able to get any sleep on a transformation night. Dumbledore had all this built for me, he thought. It was crazy that he would go through so much trouble just to allow one student to attend his school; Remus felt a rush of gratitude as he looked around.
"If there's anything that you think would make you more comfortable here, let me know," Madam Pomfrey told him.
"I don't think so," Remus said. There was not much that could make him feel comfortable once he transformed. "Thank you. You should probably go now, though." The windows were all covered, but Remus could tell it was getting close to nightfall—he felt it in his bones.
Madam Pomfrey gave his shoulder a quick squeeze, insisted he keep her sweater, and disappeared down the stairs. As soon as she was gone, Remus took off the sweater as well as the rest of his clothes, leaving them folded on top of a dresser where he doubted his wolfish self would be able to reach them. If he kept his clothes on when he transformed, they'd be torn to shreds by the end of the night.
Remus lowered himself onto the bed, wrapping its sheets around his hands. He hoped Dumbledore had not put too much effort into picking the furniture; it would all be in ruins after a few full moons.
Remus was glad the windows were boarded up. He didn't like to watch, to see the sun set and the moon rise up to take its place, its pull on his body strengthening every second. He preferred the darkness, and never having to look at that cursed silver disc that he knew would change him into a monster.
The pain grew and grew until Remus heard the distinctive crack in his bones that meant his transformation was beginning. With a yell, he fell off the bed and onto his knees, feeling his bones and muscles slowly shifting and watching as his hands curled up into clawed paws. His head ripped itself apart to grow a wolf's snout, his ears changing shape as they were pulled to the top of his head.
And then, at last, the curse reached Remus's mind. It was like a tidal wave, crashing down all at once: one second his head was filled with thoughts and fears and feelings, and the next it all was gone, replaced only by a wild, savage hunger that called for blood. He let out a howl, filled with anger and fear and loneliness, and by the time it had finished echoing around the shack Remus was no more, and the wolf was all that was left.
