Warning, swearing. Sorry about the angst. I don't know what happened - I just sat down at my desk and this came pouring out.
…….
The room was silent and dark, the bed was soft and the cool flannel on his head soothing, but none of it could take away the pain.
Had the natural transformation always been this bad? Had he forgotten how it felt to wake up shaking and incoherent, bleeding from multiple wounds inflicted by his own razor-sharp claws and teeth? Or had he grown soft from so many years of having the luxury of wolfsbane? Perhaps he was just to old to cope with it now. Whatever the reason, Remus felt weaker and sicker than at any point in his life - which, he thought with a sudden pang of self-pity, was saying something.
The worst part had been seeing Severus' distress, smelling the sense of helplessness and grief rolling off him despite his best efforts to remain outwardly strong and dependable.
Refusing to sink too deep into despondency, he forced himself to think of things other than his own torment, though the events of the previous week had not been particularly bright or cheering. Hazel had lost another baby, then Harry had got into trouble for punching a healer who had tried to throw her out of St Mungo's for being a muggle.
A tight-lipped Hermione had arrived on the morning of the first full moon since the wolfsbane scandal broke, silently brandishing a pathetic note from Finch-Fletchley in which he apologised for having to "take time out" to "find out where his head was at" and "chill", which were all very trendy ways of saying that he had no interest in fatherhood. It had taken a lot of persuasion, begging and finally actual threats to stop Harry and Severus from hunting the lad down and unleashing their multiple frustrations on his worthless arse. Hermione had actively encouraged their mission until Hazel had pointed out that even if Justin was of no emotional support to her, he was at least filthy rich and could therefore prove to be of more practical use alive than dead. 'Guilt money' had been one of the phrases she had used.
Harry had looked mildly affronted at this. Severus had looked disappointed at first, but then he and Hermione had shared a look of extreme cunning and plottiness which suggested that Justin was in no way off the hook, merely because he was no longer in immediate danger of being turned inside out. Remus had to admit that however vulgar it sounded, Hermione could derive come consolation from knowing that if she was forced to be a single mum, she was at least not going to struggle to make ends meet.
A soft sound pulled him back to the reality of the sickbed and he lifted the corner of the cloth to see Snape peering in through the half-open door.
"Sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"I wasn't asleep," Remus sighed, and Severus tiptoed over to the edge of the bed and began rearranging the cushions on the bedside chair very gently, as though afraid to disturb the peace. "Stop it!" The werewolf flung the cloth away in a sudden flash of annoyance. It hit the curtains with a damp thud.
"What?" Snape sounded alarmed.
"Being quiet, treating me like an invalid! It's bloody irritating. Pack it in!"
"I'm sorry, it just felt like…" he waved a hand in the air helplessly.
"Just sit down here and talk to me as though I'm a real live living human being, for Merlin's sake!" Remus knew he was being unfair, but he was frazzled and aching and pissed off with the permanent stress which had overtaken the house over the past three weeks. He shifted slightly in the bed and his damaged ribs throbbed in protest, making him practically snarl: "And where the hell have you been, anyway?!"
"At the Institute," Snape answered after a moment. He removed his glasses and his black and white streaked hair hung forward to completely obscure his face, the way it had done in younger, more unsettled times. Immediately Remus knew he had upset his lover, but the bitch-gremlin had a hold of him now and nothing could stop it.
"I missed you. I wanted you to be here to look after me, instead of messing around with ineffectual nonsense all day and talking about me behind my back as though I was some kind of fucking experiment. You left me on my own!"
"You said this morning that you wanted…"
"Is this how it's going to be, Severus?" he growled, aware that his anger was making everything hurt more, and aware that that made him even angrier. "You waste our precious, dwindling time together being away trying to find a cure which doesn't exist? Leave me to die alone? I that what you want to have to live with for the rest of your life?"
Snape tried to stand, but his bad leg shook so much he had to stay in the chair.
"Is that worse than finding out too late that you could have been cured, if only I had spent my time working on it instead of sitting around watching you sleep?" His voice was rasping and bitter.
"I don't know," Remus was too exhausted to stay angry.
"No, neither do I," Snape rubbed at his knee. "Please stop talking as though you've got hours to live. I know you feel awful after the change, but the timescale they are calculating is calibrated in years."
"Yes, of course, forgive me," the apology came out as an exhalation, the final sad puff of deflation of a punctured quaffle. He wished it had sounded more sincere. "I'm getting selfish."
"Remus…" Severus leaned forward and stroked his cheek, careful to avoid the sore, red gouge running diagonally across it, and very carefully kissed him on the tip of his chin.
"Sorry," In his emotional state, the tender gesture brought tears to his eyes, even though they made the scratch sting and the sobbing hurt his chest.
"Shh," Severus dabbed his face with his old handkerchief, stroking his hair with the other hand as though petting an injured animal incapable of understanding speech. "Can you try and trust me, love?"
Remus managed a nod.
"Thank you. This was your first transformation without the wolfsbane potion for years, it was bound to be ghastly," he reasoned. "Just think of Luna and all the young werewolves, who have never done it naturally before. They must be terrified. You are going to be fine, as an old hand at this," Snape's voice, though so broken and breathy since his capture, was still hypnotically calming. "By next month we will have made great leaps forward. I doubt we will have revamped wolfsbane so quickly, but we will have discovered which pain relieving potions you can take safely, so whatever happens it will be much easier than this. The worst is over."
Remus nodded again, desperately wishing it could be true.
…….
Yet another article about the best ways to protect one's family from werewolf attack had appeared in the Daily Prophet. A good percentage of the information offered directly contradicted the advice given the previous week, though he doubted that people absorbed much of it anyway. Harry had told him that many wizards were simply holing up in their cellars or attics for the duration of the full moon, preparing themselves for some kind of siege rather than trusting the precautions put in place by the Ministry.
Remus could hardly blame them.
The public response to the news that wolfsbane was turning out to be toxic when taken regularly for more than twenty years had been much kinder than he had imagined. Of course, some extremists had advocated an indiscriminate cull of all 'uncontrollable beasts', and some paranoid parents now refused to let their children out of their sight at any time of the month, but an amazing amount of people were sympathetic. Remus had even found himself in the embarrassing position of being set up as an example to all of how werewolves had made a positive contribution to society, citing a few acts of 'heroism' during the war which made him squirm uncomfortably.
Of course, that positive coverage paled into insignificance when compared with the story of the pretty, blonde, innocent four year old girl who had been mauled to death during the second full moon since the crisis. Or the handsome nineteen year old Quidditch star whose promising career had been ended after getting too drunk at a post-match party to fly home and deciding to walk instead. The bite had not been fatal, but, as every witch and wizard knows, despite having heightened senses and superhuman strength at times, werewolves can't fly. The general feeling of insecurity and mistrust was becoming very similar to the old wartime atmosphere, with the wildest of rumours rife and everyone forced to take sides.
Yet again, Remus was bowled over by the kindness of his friends. They had formed an instant, unbreakable network of support and generosity, which brought more tears to his eyes during the dark times.
Despite all his own problems, Harry was sitting next to him in the memorial garden, cheerfully discussing his recent visit to the twins' shop to distract them both from the gloomy thoughts which had surfaced as they discussed Team Wolf's lack of progress.
"Oh, that reminds me," he rummaged around in his pockets and brought out a small package, which he handed to Remus. "This is from Fred and George."
Remus held it at arm's length suspiciously.
"It's OK," Harry laughed. "They told me it's something for the house."
With some trepidation, Remus untied the string and tugged off the brown paper, to reveal a small iron plaque with the words 'Beware of the Beast!' wrought in elegant, sloping letters. Harry clapped a hand to his mouth.
"Oh god!" he exclaimed, urgently trying to scan his friend's face to see if he was amused or offended. The word 'beast' was anathema to most with his condition, and Harry looked mortified at the sight of it.
Remus picked up the little card which had tumbled onto the ground and read:
We thought this was quite appropriate...
He turned it over, trying to ignore the evil little flutters in his chest at the thought that not everyone who had been on his side during the war was necessarily behind him now.
…to put on the door of Snape's study.
The two men laughed out loud, then, realising how good it felt to laugh, carried on until a curious Hermione broke off her conversation with Hazel and came over to investigate. Remus cursed his self-absorption when he realised he hadn't asked how the pregnant witch had given the tortured couple her big news, nor how they had reacted. On the surface at least, all seemed as well as could be expected. Hazel was pale and drawn, but grimly determined not to be broken. Hermione was getting fatter all over, positively glowing with health and fecundity, except for her resigned and regretful attitude. Wonderfully, the girls had been getting along just fine.
Hermione took the plaque from Remus and after a little spluttering and disapproval, she joined in the joke and all three of them enjoyed the much-needed silliness for a few minutes. Remus thought it strange that he hadn't noticed how long it had been since he had last been overcome by uncontrollable laughter, and amidst the hilarity, felt it was rather sad that his young companions were probably in the same boat.
Before he could get too melancholy, his attention was caught by the appearance of someone he didn't know coming through the gate. This was unremarkable as the gardens were a public space for everyone to enjoy, and though they backed onto Harry's home, there were some impressively ferocious wards around the perimeter to confound or expel anyone straying uninvited into Godric's Hollow. What held Remus' eye was the odd appearance of the newcomer. He was a very tall, well built man, wearing flip-flops, khaki shorts, a yellow t-shirt with a picture of a surfer on it and a lot of jewellery made from wooden beads. A canvas kitbag emblazoned with the words 'Rip-Curl' was slung over one shoulder. Most striking of all, however, was the explosion of flame-red, shoulder-length dreadlocks and the huge fluffy ginger beard, which was decorated here and there with more beads and little braids.
An impressive figure, Remus decided, and turned to Harry to make a comment. But Harry and Hermione were staring as though mesmerised. Hermione's eyes had gone huge with amazement and Harry's mouth hung open in a rather unattractive gawp. The tall man caught sight of them and stared back for a minute, before breaking into a huge, face-splitting grin.
There was an inelegant stampede and a few squeals of delight, but it was not until the trio was messily enveloped in a familiar three-way bear hug that Remus finally realised that he was witnessing something rather wonderful.
Hazel sidled over, smiling curiously at the long-overdue reunion taking place in dangerous proximity to Sirius' memorial fountain.
"Is that who I think it is?" she asked.
"I think it might be," Remus beamed.
Five seconds later, there was a lot of screaming as the youngsters were blasted with three perfectly aimed water jets. As they laughed and swore and shook themselves, Remus felt a strange shift in the air around him, or not really the air, perhaps something in the ground, or even from somewhere inside the wolf himself; but wherever it came from, it murmured to his sixth sense with a suggestion of quiet reassurance.
It may have been something to do with his pack being reunited, or even just an echo of their collective joy, but whatever happened next, he had a feeling that everything was going to be all right.
…….
…….