Chapter Twelve
Night Of Change
The room was white and scantily furnished; there was only an old-fashioned commode in the corner, and a huge, iron bed frame, covered with a mattress, a neatly folded white quilt and a thick pillow. The only window Ruta could discern was high and small, hidden behind a thin curtain, the fabric marked only by the dark, regular shadows of the ironwork behind it. The door looked solid enough to keep even a gang of angry giants out. The walls were marred, and Ruta didn't dare to ask if the fine notches and cracks had been caused by fists, claws… or teeth.
"You must understand, Miss Lupin, that your case is very special." William Pemberthy, the Mediwizard in charge – a tall man with a haggard face and a military-looking, white crew cut - tried to avoid her gaze; she could sense his discomfort and embarrassment like a stale, sickly aroma in the air around them. "We don't know if being bitten by a werewolf who could change without the full moon might have altered the symptoms of the curse in your case, and if that werewolf was as powerful and depraved as Fenrir Greyback, of course the usual precautions are insufficient."
"Which means what, exactly?" With faint amusement she realized that Stephen Seeker's brusque dislike of dancing wordily around an unpleasant topic had obviously rubbed off on her.
"We have to protect our staff… and you, of course." Now their eyes met, and the mixture of pity and anxious distrust that she saw made Ruta's blood run cold. "Therefore we cannot permit you to walk around freely in this ward." A flick of his wand produced a large parchment roll, hovering in front of him; he studied it with narrowed eyes. "Well… the last full moon ended on August 24th… which would mean that the next full moon begins on September 21st. We'll have to restrict your presence at St. Mungo's to this room for the next three weeks."
"Three weeks?" It took all her self-command to keep the dismay and helpless rage she felt out of her voice. "That would make me a prisoner, wouldn't it?"
"Oh... but you shouldn't see it that way." The Mediwizard cleared his throat. "It's nothing more but a simple… erh… precaution. We shall also have to retain control of your wand, lest you forget yourself enough to use it against somebody else."
"How very considerate of you." She knew that her irony was completely wasted on the man, but for the second time within minutes she was reminded of Stephen's sharp wit and tongue, and somehow that memory eased the bitter pressure on her heart.
Ruta did her best to endure the white emptiness of her room with stoicism. She received three letters from her father; Andromeda had taken it upon her to inform him of the newest development in the tragic Lupin family history (a fact Ruta was infinitely grateful for), but the comfort she hoped to find in those letters had a strangely hollow, dissatisfactory taste. He offered to come and see her, but Ruta decided against it; his health wasn't what it used to be, and her mortifying confinement would certainly be a shock for the old wizard; after half a dozen fruitless attempts she finally managed a reply that was hopefully reassuring and humorous enough to keep him away. Harry showed up once for a brief visit, though; he was clearly horrified by her accommodations. She did her best to console him, but the dismay in his eyes was a mere echo of her own.
The visits from Lottie Stanhope were much easier to bear. She'd been the Healer sent by Kingsley Shacklebolt, to care for Ruta on the first night after the attack - a pudgy, grey-haired woman with bright, friendly eyes. The elderly witch came nearly every day – blithely dismissing William Pemberthy's recital of the "no contamination" rules within Ruta's hearing, much to the younger Mediwizard's chagrin. "Pish-tosh, Pemberthy, there's no use reading me the rules when I'm the one who wrote them. I've come up against much tougher nuts than a reluctant werewolf, you know, no matter what phase of the moon."
It was Lottie who continued to tend the slowly healing wounds, and Lottie who brightened Ruta's cell with the addition of a pile of brightly colored cushions for the bed. Since a visit in the library was completely out of question, Lottie was the one to supply Ruta with books she deemed interesting, a highly welcome distraction from the dull routine of the sneaking hours. Ruta delved hungrily into a colorful mixture of medical texts, essays on historical wars against goblins and giants and some wildly romantic novels, thick enough to fill her empty days (and which she highly suspected came from Lottie's personal shelves). One morning at the beginning of September, Miss Stanhope showed up with a chessboard and bewitched an extra chair to go beside the table that would normally only appear dutifully at mealtimes. The lovely ivory and ebony pawns performed the ritual dance of Rooks and Kings on the board while Ruta listened halfheartedly to her visitor's tales about the students at the Academy and the comical mishaps of Healers and patients at the hospital. Her mind wandered longingly back to St. Mary Green; she wondered if she would ever sit opposite of Stephen again, playing the Game of Kings and joyfully claiming one of her rare, hard-won victories.
Time crawled along, day by day by day… and then the last week before the new full moon shrunk to a few remaining hours. Ruta sat on the last remaining chair, holding one of Lottie's colored cushions close to her chest, like a feeble shield; she watched William Pemberthy as he maneuvered pillow, blanket and sheets from the bed, using his wand and a few, quick spells. Now only the naked mattress was left, and he turned to her.
"Within the next half an hour your supper will be served, Miss Lupin," he said, his voice cool and impersonal. "After you've finished it will be necessary for you to lie down on the bed. You'll have to be bound, to prevent you from hurting yourself or anyone else."
Ruta felt as if a giant fist was closing around her throat. "Do you mean to tell me that I have to lie there for the rest of the day, chained against the frame of that bed like some savage beast – even though I haven't turned yet – and wait for the change to come?" The sound of her voice was calm, which was amazing enough, for a small, desperate being deep inside of her heart longed to scream, to run and to bang its fists against the door until they were bleeding.
"Exactly," he said. "But as I told you when you came here…"
"It's only a precaution, I know," she said, still desperately struggling to keep her outrage under control. "But it is a poor way to handle someone who is no more than a victim."
"We have no choice," he said. "We can't tolerate the damage you might do as a beast, victim or not."
He kept a careful distance, but her heightened senses – sharpened even more, now that the full moon was so very close - made his body odor fill her nostrils like an overwhelming mixture of smells. Ruta could scent the lavender soap he must have used this morning, the starch in the fabric of his freshly ironed robe, but also the thin film of sweat on his brow and neck, bearing witness to the loathing and fear he was hiding under the composed surface. And something else that went even deeper, something dark, cankered like rusty iron. Suddenly she understood with great clarity.
"You know, I should advise Kingsley Shacklebolt to dismiss you from this case," she said softly. "Perhaps this humiliating procedure is necessary, but it should not be carried out by someone who hates werewolves as much as you do."
Pemberthy made a step back, his face hardening.
"I don't think that you're in a position to make demands," he said.
"You'd best not be too sure about that," she retorted. "Do you really want me to mention your obvious aversion to the Minister of Magic?"
The Mediwizard paled. "You won't have the chance." It was merely more than a hiss.
"Maybe I won't have the chance to tell Shacklebolt about it, but I shall have no difficulty in informing Harry Potter, and the Minister certainly does listen to him," she fired back, for the moment heedless of the consequences. "And since my… my upcoming change is doubtlessly to be supervised, I want Lottie Stanhope to do it, and not you."
"Lottie Stanhope!" He stared at her in disbelief. "But she…"
"She helped dress my wounds the night of Greyback's attack," Ruta said. "She has visited me during the last weeks whenever she was able, and I have reason to suspect that she honestly cares for my well-being. And as a teacher for Magical Diseases at the Academy for Healing Arts she might find this… instructive." She swallowed, but managed to keep her face unmoving while he veered away with a swirl of his lime green robe and sailed out of the room.
Supper appeared on the table a few minutes later, and Ruta gulped down a few spoonfuls of soup and a small portion of the spaghetti, just to fill her stomach. Shortly afterwards tray, table and chair vanished, and she lay down on the bed without resistance, suppressing a wince when chains rose from the sides of the bed frame, and iron bonds closed around her wrists and ankles. She closed her eyes, blocking out any thought that kept her rooted in her body. Images wandered past her mind, colorful miniatures of her sun-warmed garden, of rose bushes in bloom, of Teddy's smiling face and the tall figure of a man, his hands expressive, his eyes black as onyx and his voice deep and forceful.
Stephen…
She must have been dozed off for a while, but suddenly she was wide awake, turning her face to the door; blurred figures were moving behind the small inspection window. The lights were dimmed, the room filled with shadows, but then the curtains above her that had been closed all the time slowly slid aside. Silvery light washed the room, making her blink. She found herself unable to turn her head away, her gaze on the luminary that ruled her fate; the sudden, terrifying brightness was seeping through her skin and into her veins. Finally she closed her eyes, but the moon blazed behind her eyelids like twin coins of icy silver. It burnt her with cold fire, and she could feel its power throbbing in her ears.
And with the dreaded presence of the full moon came the pain, slim tendrils of unpleasantness at first, winding around her limbs and clenching her ribcage… and then getting stronger every moment as the change intensified its grip. She noticed in panicking disbelief how her arms and legs morphed to a different form, bones, sinews and flesh screaming their protest with dolorous agony. She bucked and writhed on the bed, safely held by the chains, thrashing her head in helpless denial… and finally her first, frightened howl as a wolf reverberated within a skull that had lost its semblance to any human form...
..."Merlin - !"
Ruta rocketed up in her bed, hair and nightgown damp with cold sweat. The room around her was dark, dying embers smoldering on the grate of the fireplace. No white walls, no iron pillory of a bed, no smell of hopelessness in the air. This was her house, her shelter, and the merciless eyes of William Pemberthy were nothing but a memory, however disturbing. And a warning… he was not the first and he would certainly not be the last to regard her with fear and repulsion.
She got up and walked over to the chest of drawers. A folded cloth hung over the rim of the half-full washstand pitcher; she dipped it into the rose-scented water, wrung it out and slowly ran it over her face, deeply inhaling the gentle aroma.
Those three weeks in the white room in London, finally culminating in those three, nightmarish days that she had spent chained against the bed, had only been the beginning. She had no choice - the next change would happen as inevitably as the next full moon… and even one fleeting moment of feral madness like this was more than she could bear to think about.
But no… that was not true. There was a choice she could make, a person she could to turn to.
Ruta stepped over to the window, pulled the curtain aside and pushed it open. The cold, fresh breeze blew the hair back off of her face and made her nightgown flutter while she listened to the echo of Neville's voice in her mind.
For now you should simply not forget that he's one of the very few people who are able to brew the Wolfsbane Potion at all, and I'll bet my annual salary that if you want his help, all you have to do is to ask.
He was right, of course. And still, Ruta thought, staring out with blind eyes at the silent road, after all the danger "Stephen Seeker" had already gone through for her sake, she was not sure if she was willing to burden him with even more.
vvvvv
The next morning was rainy and grey water splashed around Stephen Seeker's boots as he opened Ruta's garden gate. The white roses near the wall had lost most of their last petals; the bushes needed to be clipped, and he felt his lips twist in a grimace when he remembered that the woman who would normally have done so with ease was now unable to manage even the small garden tasks that had been her joy. He passed the dripping branches of the willow and reached out to knock.
First nothing happened. Then he heard the sudden noise of smashing porcelain from inside, and something that sounded suspiciously like a particularly juicy example of strong language.
"Ruta?" he called. "It's me, Stephen. Are you well?"
"Stephen?" The warm alto voice had a disquietingly sharp and angry undertone. "I just … I just can't… ah well, do come in."
He opened the door and stepped over the threshold. The vestibule was empty, but when he reached the kitchen, he was greeted by the astonishing sight of Ruta Lupin, clad in a dark green wizard robe, her long hair unkempt and her feet bare. Shards glittered on the stone floor; he spotted an unharmed lid with delicate ornaments and flowers, and managed just in time to avoid stepping on the largest fragment, a beautifully swung handle.
"Best you should stay exactly where you are until I have removed this mess into the rubbish bin," he dryly remarked, "or you'll cut your feet."
"Not into the rubbish bin!" Ruta blurted out. "That was my Spode coffee pot, for heaven's sake, but I left my wand on the sideboard, and even if I could reach it right now, I would be unable to use it as I should." Her voice faltered dangerously, and she bit her lip. "I'm sorry… but that pot was the first piece of tableware I ever managed to cast a complicated spell on that really worked – it is a famous Muggle design I really like, and I was able to bespell it to brew an excellent batch of coffee – not as excellent as Winky's of course - and…"
She noticed his patient gaze and gave a short, desperate laugh.
"Forgive me, I know I'm babbling. I'm… I'm simply not used to being unable to cope with things myself."
"Only too understandable," Seeker replied. He raised his wand. "Reparo!"
The shards rose in a flurry of blue and white from the tiles and formed a lovely coffee pot, decorated with a classical painting of an idyllic landscape. It landed gently on a wooden sideboard.
"There," he said. "Now you should be able to walk through your kitchen without doing any damage to yourself."
"Thank you." Ruta took a deep breath. "I guess in my situation I should invest in some cheap pottery."
Suddenly she sat down heavily on the chair beside the table. She didn't look at him, but when she spoke again, her voice was soft and very tired.
"I have always managed to live on my own very well. I'm a very organized person. I had my work, I had Andromeda and Teddy, and I've always loved what I was doing. Now I can barely wash myself, let alone cast a cleaning spell on my belongings. My right hand is lame, and I'm unspeakably clumsy with my left when it comes to using my wand. I needed a quarter on an hour this morning to get into a simple robe; my usual blouse and skirt are totally out of question, I have no idea how to handle all those buttons. Thank Goodness Dromeda promised me to come over after lunch… my hair looks like a bird's nest, and I normally need both hands to brush and braid it."
She shot him a side glance, her face suddenly flushed with shame.
"This must sound to you like the fussing of a silly child. And you must be tired of listening to my constant, ridiculous complaints. I'm terribly sorry."
He never knew later why he said the next words, but they came out of his mouth before his mind had the chance to invoke prudence and reason.
"I must admit my experience is rather limited when it comes to hairdressing, but I could give it a try, if you'd like."
Ruta raised her head.
"You could… oh." Her shoulders slumped, and he saw the hands in her lap flex convulsively. "You don't have to. I told you it was silly."
"I know that I don't have to," Seeker placidly replied. "But now that I no longer have to deal with an entire schoolfull of silly children you should expect a softer moment from me now and then, and this is apparently one of them. Cherish it while it lasts."
He stepped behind her, critically examining the long and tousled strands.
"I'll need a brush."
"Well, if you really... Over there, on the sideboard."
Right next to Ruta's willow wand he found a brush and a comb, both backed with old and beautiful hand-crafted silver, engraved with ivy tendrils and delicate, four-leaved flowers. Rue, he thought, his well-trained mind automatically coming up with the correct, botanical name. Ruta graveolens. She noticed his surprised gaze and looked up at him, the hint of a smile in her eyes.
"They are heirlooms; my grandmother received them as a wedding gift from my grandfather, and we share the same name." Her smile deepened. "But they and the Spode pot are the only truly precious items in my household, I fear."
After a second of hesitation Stephen Seeker reached out and touched her hair. He lifted it from the back of her neck, running the brush through the disheveled mass that slowly untangled under his long, gentle strokes. Ruta didn't speak, but he could feel her body palpably relax under his ministrations. He didn't speak either, strangely absorbed by this new and unfamiliar task, and after a first pang of unease he realized that he actually enjoyed the procedure at least as much as she did. The only sound in the silent kitchen was the soft swishing of the brush. The slow rhythm of his own hands nearly lulled him into a peaceful daze.
After a few minutes her hair was smooth and shining, and he spread it on her shoulders. It felt warm and vivid against his palms, and he stared down at it for a small eternity before he parted it in three equal tresses and began to braid them into a thick plait.
Left strand over the middle one, right strand… left strand over the middle one again, right strand…
…he had always dreamt of braiding Lily's hair that way, but there'd never been the chance to do so. They had been very close before he crushed their friendship with his arrogance and helpless hate, but they had never been close enough to share a moment like this…
…left strand over the middle one, right strand… left strand again…
…for a fleeting second his fingertips grazed her neck. Ruta's face, arms and hands were still tanned from spending most of her time during the summer in fresh air, but here the skin was white and velvet-soft...
…right strand over the middle one, left strand… right strand again…
…his eyes followed the graceful line where the neck merged into her shoulders. He knew he only needed to lean in just a little bit to see the neckline of her green robe and the gentle curves of her breasts…
…left strand over the middle one, right strand, left strand over the middle one again…
Suddenly Ruta let herself sink into his touch and gave a small sound from deep in her throat, like the purring of a very satisfied cat.
"You should consider changing your profession," she murmured. The sharp tension that had alarmed him earlier had completely vanished from her voice, and the warm, vibrating tone sent a violent shudder through his entire body. Instinctively he took half a step back.
"You forget that I don't have any profession right now," he retorted, struggling to regain control over a multitude of nerves that had been out of service for more years than he dared to count.
"Which will certainly change some day," she said, straightening her back and rising from her chair. She turned around to him; he could see a single, fine strand that had escaped his attention, and to his dismay he had to fight the strong impulse to take it between his fingers and push it back behind her ear. "Thank you… that was both gentle and kind. And now I have to ask another favor from you… a far greater one."
Her voice was calm and clear.
"You are able to brew the Wolfsbane Potion, and I need it. The next full moon is coming, and I don't want to face it. I don't want to lose myself again. Not like..." She shuddered, biting her lip. "… not like the first time."
"That is why I am here," he answered. "I came to Berwick two days ago, to offer my assistance. But I missed you, and when we finally met, our conversation took a completely… different direction."
Suddenly Ruta laughed.
"That's a very considerate way to put it," she said, "especially after I made such a fool of myself in your presence."
"There is something else," he continued, secretly glad that his nerves, his mind and body had slowly returned to behaving decently again; the serious issue worked wonders to clear his head. "I fear running two households at the same time would mean asking too much of Mrs. Tonks. And I can see that you would benefit from some additional assistance during your recovery. As soon as I have returned home again, I mean to send you Winky."
"Winky?" She shook her head. "Do you really think you can spare her service… and would she agree?"
"I can hardly imagine she'll object," he remarked. "And to be honest - I think she will be delighted. Since you gave her the earrings, she worships the ground beneath your feet. And besides… she loves nothing better than providing service. My needs are not so complicated, and I think she has already found every thing in my house that is possible to polish."
"I don't know what to say." She looked at him, her face full of unveiled relief. "Only that I don't know what I would do without you. You're incredibly generous, Stephen."
"I'm simply trying to help as best as I can," he said, his tone brusque. "And now I have to leave. Winky will be here in a few minutes… I take it that you have not had breakfast yet?"
"Yes."
"Then you should allow her to brew the coffee you like so much, and to plunder your pantry… and mine, if necessary. She will take over as long as your wounds are healing, and she will also be a great help while the moon is full. I shall be occupied with brewing the Wolfsbane Potion, but she'll deliver it every morning, and watch over you while you are changed. That is hardly a task for Andromeda Tonks."
Her lips twitched. "Only too true."
"Well, then. Have a nice day, Ruta. Winky should make things much easier for you."
"She certainly will. - Stephen?"
Suddenly she stood in front of him; she reached out and took his hand. Her touch made his skin tingle, he could sense the warmth radiating from her body, and the faint aroma, rising from her hair. Grass and roses, he thought, and then her face was very close, and her lips touched his cheek. His heart missed a beat, but before he could react, she had already stepped back.
"Good bye, Stephen. And… thank you."
"Good bye, Ruta."
He hastily turned away and left the house, walking with fast steps. The willow and the withered roses rushed past him in a green and white haze, and then he closed the garden gate behind him and stood on the sidewalk, taking a deep breath. He looked down at his hands; his fingers were trembling.
For sanity's sake – for Ruta's sake, he had to keep away from her and come back to his senses. The last thing she needed right now was a friend, hungering for something far beyond friendship… something he had no right to desire.
vvvvv
Winky arrived barely ten minutes after Stephen had left, and from that moment on Ruta literally didn't need to lift a finger anymore. After the first twenty-four hours the unfamiliar presence of a house-elf felt rather odd, after forty-eight hours Ruta had decided to forbid Winky to cook meals big enough to feed three eaters instead of one, and after two more days she honestly wondered how she had managed to survive without her until now.
Every morning she awoke to the rich aroma of Winky's marvelous, freshly brewed coffee; the elf had found out that she loved croissants, and so they appeared on her breakfast table every day, warm and crisp, with a pot of creamy butter and small glass bowls with honey and strawberry marmalade to dip them in. The neglected garden was put to rights again; the last, withered rose blossoms vanished overnight and the bushes were neatly clipped and prepared for their long winter's sleep. The clothes Ruta had been unable to wear since that fateful evening didn't pose a problem any longer, and Winky scrupulously supervised the therapeutic exercises that Ruta had been prescribed at St. Mungo's in the hopes that she might regain some of the lost strength and flexibility in her right arm.
After three days Winky brought the first small flask of Wolfsbane Potion; it was every bit as horrible as Remus had told her, but Ruta swallowed the steaming fluid with honest gratitude, together with a surprisingly strong feeling of disappointment that Stephen hadn't bothered to deliver the protective draught in person. He said he would be busy, she sternly told herself. And he probably needs a break, after all that drama you dragged him into.
The following days she faithfully continued taking the Potion, but still Stephen kept away, and a discomforting mixture of pride and embarrassment barred Ruta from calling on him. Instead she tried to give the broken routine of her days a new rhythm. She used the mornings to rereading the books on her shelves that had been neglected for years, and in the afternoons she took long walks through the village and the valley. The people from St. Mary Green met her with great kindness and sympathy… which was probably a result of the story Andromeda Tonks had skillfully spread through her weekly tea circle. The villagers thought it was the aftermath of a severe accident during a visit in London that kept Ruta at home; that a careless driver in a skidding car had been the cause of her serious injuries. Ruta caught herself more than once wishing that the tale Dromeda had told her gossipy friends was the truth.
In the evenings she went to visit Teddy and his grandmother; she had dinner with both of them and then read Teddy the Tales of Beedle the Bard; one more time she opened the book at the first page, beginning with The Wizard and the Hopping Pot, though she knew that The Fountain of Fair Fortune was her nephew's favorite. On the last evening before the turn of the moon she skipped the pages with The Warlock's Hairy Heart – a dark, cruel story Ruta had always heartily detested – and read The Fountain of Fair Fortune once again. Ruta smiled, remembering that Teddy had often asked her to leave out "all that boring, romantic stuff" when he was younger, but this evening he didn't seemed to mind:
"Amata knew the treasure that burdened her heart. She knew she had to abandon it, to grant them all passage across the river. She saw Asha sigh and Altheda frown, and she saw the dark, troubled eyes of Sir Luckless. His gaze held hers, and she discovered the faint shadow of an encouraging smile. And so she lifted her wand, and the memory of her lover, cherished and preserved far too long, rose in a silvery mist from her temple and floated down to the water.
"Well done, Mylady Amata," Sir Luckless whispered. "Well done."
With disbelieving joy she saw stepping stones rise out of the stream; he gallantly took her hand and led her across the water, Asha and Altheda in their wake…"
Ruta closed the book and saw that Teddy had fallen asleep. For a long moment she sat completely still, her mind filled with the memory of a man's hands in her hair.
I'm simply trying to help as best as I can.
She sighed, leaned in and kissed the boy's cheek, letting his childlike scent of milk, clean skin and soap enfold her like a sweet-smelling cloud. Then she rose from the bed, tiptoed out of the room and closed the door behind her.
vvvvv
The next morning Winky brought not one flask but two.
"Master says this is a light sleeping draught," the house-elf explained. "Master thinks Miss might want to take it before moonrise, because he is concerned about the violent side effects of the change on your wounds, and this draught will ease the transition."
"How very considerate." Ruta said, slipping the second flask into the pocket of her dressing gown and reaching out for the steaming mug with the Wolfsbane Potion. She emptied the mug and wiped her mouth.
"Thank you, Winky. You may go home now, if you like… I don't think I'll need you for the rest of the day." She smiled. "Your Master might feel a bit neglected."
"Master insists that I should be here," Winky returned, folding both arms in front of her chest. The heart-shaped studs in her flapping ears flashed with provocation.
"And I insist that you return home," Ruta firmly said, deliberately softening her tone when she saw Winky's hurt and miserable gaze. "You were a marvel all this time, really… I simply need a day on my own. You may come back shortly before sundown if you like. In fact, I would appreciate it."
The house-elf gave her a beaming smile.
"Winky will be back in time," she eagerly assured Ruta. "And Winky will take care that Miss is safe in her house until the full moon is over."
Five minutes later she disappeared. Winky's presence had been a blessing, but Ruta honestly enjoyed being alone, and it had been hard to explain that to the house-elf. To pass the hours, she decided to take a long walk up the path that led to Bléa Tarn. She spent the rest of the morning and most part of the afternoon at the bank of the lake; the tourists were gone, the air was crisp and crystal clear, and for a few, precious hours the silent landscape, reflected in the clear, blue mirror of the water, was a sanctuary she didn't have to share.
She returned to the village when the sun was sinking towards the horizon. She entered her house, got rid of the Muggle clothing and slipped into her dressing gown while the light turned to a deep red, with fiery, thin rays working their way through the scattered clouds in the west.
Her hand found the small flask in the pocket. She uncorked it and smelled the sharp-sweet scent; her heightened senses were easily able to identify the ingredients. Mostly valerian, and a whiff of poppy… it would probably only make her drowsy and sluggish, just enough to dampen the horrifying sensation of the change. On the kitchen table she found a tray with a fresh chicken sandwich and a glass of pumpkin juice. She ate with surprising appetite and – after a second of hesitation – washed down the sleeping draught with the last of the juice. Then she went up the steps into her bedroom, closed the door and locked it from inside.
Sunset was no more than a glowing memory behind the shingled roofs and gables on the other side of Tulip Close. She gazed down on the street… and suddenly beheld the familiar, silent figure of a man, all clad in black, his pale face turned upwards to her window.
He was there.
She raised her hand, filled with disbelieving joy. For a careless second she wanted to push up the window, wanted to call his name… but now a heavy sleepiness wove a fine web around her limbs and slowly began to cloud her head. The draught is beginning to work. The sky outside had turned dark, and a strong wind chased the clouds away from the glorious lamp of the moon. Pure silver brightness washed over her; she turned her eyes to the light reigning over her blood, and her knees buckled beneath her.
With a last, conscious effort she tried to cling to the windowsill, but she had no hands to close around it. She caught a glimpse of fingers that were shrinking and turning into paws, and for the second time her mind desperately revolted against the impossible sensation of fur, breaking through her skin and covering her entire body while the moon circled in her veins like cold fire.
Somewhere in the distance there was a shrill, thin scream, turning into a long-drawn-out howl. And then nothing…
… nothing but impenetrable silence.
Author's Notes:
The Tales of Beedle the Bard actually exist as books; they are hand-written (by Mrs. Rowling herself), and only one copy from a total of seven was sold in an auction (to amazon). Folks over there were friendly enough to provide summaries of the fairy tales that are not mentioned in the Harry-Potter-series, but not the full text; so I took the freedom to create my own version of The Fountain of Fair Fortune for this and the next chapter.