A/N: Chapter title yoinked from John Donne's poem, "A Valediction: forbidding Mourning" - one of the most moving love poems you could ever read. Once again, thanks for reading & reviewing this story. Makes my day. :) I'm a bit proud of this chapter - hope you like it!
Inevitably – though most unfortunately, in Remus' eyes – Halloween morning arrived at Hogwarts. Black and orange leapt violently from the rails of staircases and the stone castle walls. The gaping mouths of giant pumpkins cackled as students passed gingerly.
Breakfast conversation was interrupted by the rhythmic rattling of a hoard of dancing skeletons. James and Sirius leapt atop the Gryffindor table and began to tap-dance in time, both winking roguishly at first a clapping Dumbledore, and then an appalled Remus. Pumpkin juice was spilled.
Nearly Headless Nick looked positively disgusted at the crassness of it all. As had become a Halloween tradition at the Gryffindor table, cheerful conversation was interrupted by a rather mournful Nick, who informed all who would listen that his Death Day deserved a classier celebration than a "crew of clattering corpses".
"A Saturday!" Sirius had exclaimed ecstatically, back in the relative safety of the plotting stages. "No classes! We'll have all day to prepare our cunning scheme!"
"Nobody," James, had sighed, "takes the word 'cunning' and matches it with the word 'scheme' these days, Sirius. It's such a gauche, uninspired expression. Don't our pranks deserve more?"
"You sound like Professor Lupin back there," Sirius had replied, most insulted, not gaining any brownie points from Remus. "May we now return to our wily plot?"
A cautious two steps behind his friends, Remus had snorted quietly at James' easy hypocrisy. Unfortunately, both black-haired boys had an extraordinary vocabulary, and seemed to enjoy spouting ridiculous phrases at every opportunity.
"What now, Remus?" Sirius had cried with false exasperation, spinning to face his friend. "How would you describe our covert and devious activities?"
"Mad marauding?" Remus had suggested with a hint of a smile. Despite the promise that he'd made to himself – and to the others, loudly, no less – he couldn't help being involved in the preparations for the upcoming prank. Not when he was subjected to wheedling, and bribing, and threatening, and the other attentions that were inevitably rendered to him in the immediate period before a complicated prank.
He couldn't refuse his friends' requests. Any disapproval directed at him reminded Remus that he had never had friends before Hogwarts, and that he was extremely fortunate to have anyone at all to beseech him in the name of blood promises past. Without fail, acquiescence eventually burst from his treacherous mouth, no matter how truly bizarre or dangerous the consequences.
And so Remus came to be seated in Hagrid's small, cosy cabin after breakfast on Halloween morning, Fang's enormous, slobbery snout resting heavily on the lap of his formerly clean robes. As Remus stroked Fang's velvety ears distractedly, he continuously glanced around Hagrid to the window, waiting anxiously for the signal that would let him know that all was ready.
How had James and Sirius managed to persuade him to do this? Remus sighed heavily. But, of course, the answer was obvious. They had asked him to do it.
"Not me," James had said promptly, "not after the lake incident." Silently, the four shared a collective wince at the memory, although a grin soon reappeared on James' face. He looked at Sirius expectantly.
"Oh, I don't think so."
"But you love dogs!" Peter had exclaimed, quickly lowering his head in order to convey his extreme disinclination to perform the task.
"Yeah, dogs are great. But if I took even one step towards Fang, Hagrid would nab me in a second, and you all know it," Sirius had explained, looking rather disappointed. James nodded reluctantly, and the two boys had gazed thoughtfully at each other.
Remus became afraid.
Sure enough, the discussion was quickly closed. The decision was firm and unanimous. Remus' head-shaking and muttering of the negative did not even register. Seated in the cabin, he shook his head and silently scolded his frailty.
When would that blasted signal come?
A tight fist of guilt squeezed Remus' stomach constantly like a decidedly queasy stress ball. The others had assured him that he was the perfect candidate for the job, being in Hagrid's good books for whatever mysterious reason. It was in order to disperse his friends' suspicious looks at this point of the persuasion that Remus had reluctantly agreed, but not without plentiful retrospective regret.
Ultimately, his friendship with Hagrid was unique. They were joined by the nature of their circumstances. But, of course, it was more than that; Remus owed more to Hagrid than a shared misery. The giant of a man knew his secret, and accepted him nonetheless. Apart from Dumbledore, nobody at Hogwarts could claim the same, and Remus' appreciation for Hagrid's ready acceptance had been steadily growing since the gamekeeper's first approach.
And now Remus was to pointedly ignore Hagrid's kindness by participating in the kidnapping of his beloved canine. Well, surely the gamekeeper should have expected such treachery from a werewolf.
Remus was suddenly struck by glorious inspiration.
"You know what, Hagrid," he said abruptly, a mild smile lighting his pale face, "to tell you the truth, I'm quite amazed at how friendly Fang is towards me. Most animals shy away as readily as people once they- they know."
Hagrid beamed in delight, unconcerned at the sudden change of conversation, leaning forward and violently scratching an appreciative Fang behind the ears.
"He's a good dog, Fang," Hagrid affirmed, "a righ' good sort."
Over Hagrid's shoulder, Remus caught sight of a glorious spray of violet sparks, yet his smile only widened. He pointedly ignored his friends' 'subtle' signal.
"I reckon that some people would think that Fang was every bit as scary as a werewolf or a giant," Remus continued. "But he wouldn't look at a golden snitch the wrong way, would he?"
"Wouldn't harm a fly!" cried Hagrid, looking affronted.
"Today's Halloween, isn't it?" Remus said, twisting his face into a thoughtful expression, and tapped his forefinger on the table, letting his other hand settle on Fang's warm flank. When Hagrid nodded the affirmative, eyes still clouded in outrage at the apparent prejudice faced by his dog, Remus stopped tapping and slapped his hand melodramatically on the table.
He was really quite pleased with himself. He tried not to let his eyes slip to the window, and to the distracting view of his three friends attempting to hoist themselves into a nearby tree in order to see what was happening in the cabin.
"You should take Fang to the Halloween feast tonight," Remus stated decidedly, quickly continuing before Hagrid could begin to object. "I'm sure that Dumbledore wouldn't mind, you know, what with all the dancing skeletons and everything there already. And then you could show everyone how truly harmless and amiable Fang really is."
Remus watched, still twinging slightly with guilt, as Hagrid slowly nodded. Fortunately, as Remus' acting and persuading skills were fast running short, it didn't take much further effort to procure a promise from the gamekeeper to bring his hairy guest to the feast that night.
Gulping down a last mouthful of lukewarm tea, Remus stood, heaving Fang's head from his lap, and walked to the wooden door, farewelling Hagrid with slightly more gratitude than normal.
"Pleasure's mine," Hagrid assured him warmly, propping the door open with his left boot, and ushering Remus through. However, just as Remus stepped over the threshold, a cramping agony shot through his body, bending him over forcibly, gasping for breath. As Hagrid cried out in alarm, Remus grabbed at the doorframe and gripped into the wood until his white knuckles reddened.
The thudding of several pairs of sneakers colliding with dirt nearby was only met with a weak resignation by Remus, as nausea gradually replaced the biting pain.
"What's up with him?" he heard Sirius demanding heatedly, a worried edge in his voice. Remus jerked his head as he heard footsteps approaching.
"Don't- need- help," he gasped wretchedly, dredging up resolve, and pulled himself up, leaning heavily on the doorframe. His head spun warningly as he lifted his head, but luckily the nausea didn't rise. As he slowly regained control of himself, and managed to plaster a weak grin on his face, he raised his eyes to his friends.
"Should've let me eat breakfast this morning instead of tap-dancing through my toast," he croaked, rolling his eyes disparagingly at the others with no small effort.
It had been a year at least since the last time he had betrayed such weakness to his friends. Remus had always been so careful on the eve of a full moon. But never, in the past, had his friends tracked the lunar cycle with such eager glee. Never had werewolves been the subject of so many conversations during the waxing of the moon. And never had Remus allowed himself to be so distracted by pranks and guilt that he couldn't manage to hide the agonising cramps that always occurred the day before his transformation.
"You had two bowls of cereal," James said quietly, staring at Remus with obvious concern. "You ate mine when I wouldn't sit down, even though you complained that you were already full."
"I didn't require a coating of cereal quite so early in the morning," Remus muttered, almost falling over as Hagrid gave him a worried clap on the back.
"You're just a little under the weather, aren't yeh?" the gamekeeper said hurriedly, winking enormously at Remus, interrupting the awkward conversation. "You'll be righ' tomorrow, or soon enough, anyway."
The four boys walked slowly back up the sloping lawn to the castle, Remus having flatly refused to allow Sirius to either support or levitate him, accompanied by an unusual silence. Finally, immensely discomforted, Remus ventured an account of his success in persuading Hagrid to bring Fang to the feast that night.
"Ah," Sirius said knowingly, "a worthy diversion, that. It'll be harder to link this prank to us, now that we don't have to kidnap Fang ourselves."
"But I left twenty pounds of mince in the pumpkin patch!" James cried in frustration. "We spent so long on that sleeping draught, and now what? Hagrid's doing the dirty work for us?"
"Be grateful that I even took part in this prank," Remus said haughtily. "I'll have you know that this is the last time I will allow my name to be besmirched for one of your pranks."
"You can't hang out with us and expect to retain that image of purity, Remus," Sirius drawled, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "You're in with a bad crowd, you know."
"Yeah, your reputation's pretty much done for, Remus," Peter pitched in knowledgeably, panting a little as he struggled up the incline.
Remus shook his head and sighed in an exaggerated fashion, dodging the friendly punches aimed his way, and felt the ache in his side subside. The cramp had been but a shadow of what he was to face tonight, but here, in the presence of his friends, he could almost forget what he was, and what he was soon to face.
"Hey, where're you going?" Sirius demanded.
Remus stiffened. He tried not to let his face fall too obviously, and nervously rubbed his hand across his clammy forehead, attempting to look unsuspicious.
"I-I thought you'd already gone to Divination," he said, his voice false and cheery. It wasn't too difficult to mimic Sirius' revolted expression at the mention of the hated subject. "Wouldn't want to let Professor Nyx miss an opportunity to forecast your doom, right?"
Sirius rolled his eyes in disgust. "If I ever do get visited by the Grim, I will personally ensure that she gets an eyeful before I die."
Remus gripped the railing, and laughed briefly, starting forward as if to make his way past Sirius towards the Portrait Hole.
"Hey," Sirius said quietly, grabbing the sleeve of Remus' robes before he could walk past, and gently pulling the smaller boy around to face him. "Are you still feeling ill from this morning?"
With a small sigh, Remus tugged his sleeve free and raised his eyebrows wryly. "Something like that."
As Sirius kept staring at him worriedly, Remus paused, and wiped at his sweaty brow again, knowing that he wasn't going to be dismissed so readily. He shrugged slightly, and lowered his eyes before telling Sirius a variation of that old, familiar lie about his relative in St Mungos. He didn't have time to elaborate on the normal version, and continued down the stairs merely hoping that his story had been convincing.
He could feel the burn of Sirius' gaze on his back as he hurried through the Common Room.
There was no time. Already it was late afternoon, and Madam Pomfrey was always strict about punctuality on these occasions – as she should be, Remus acknowledged wearily. Add to this recent delay his pressing fatigue, and the residual feeling of nausea that had stayed with him since that morning, and Remus had barely been able to inject any sentiment into his conversation with Sirius.
He hoped that, like James and Peter, Sirius would be quickly distracted by delicious thoughts of the upcoming Halloween prank…
Remus shook his head slightly as he opened the Portrait Hole and clambered out. He wished them luck. He really did.
Remus just needed it more.
Pain. Steady, throbbing, burning pain. Even as he lay motionless, Remus' whole body ached from the very moment he came into consciousness. He did not have to open his eyes to know that last night's transformation had been particularly brutal.
No, his eyes would remain closed for as long as possible. Remus had long since learned, through years of agonising experience, that the initial suffering was far preferable to the nausea he would feel upon prying his eyelids open. Better just to lie there, still and silent like a corpse, wishing in vain for sleep to return.
Distractions in the Hospital Wing were few and far between. He was, of course, separated by thick cotton curtains from the other iron bedsteads, as no other student was allowed to know of his affliction. Gossip spread like wildfire through the student body. One glimpse of his ravaged form the night after a full moon would be as effective as standing on a table in the Great Hall and illustrating his lycanthropy through interpretive dance.
Momentarily forgetting his need to remain motionless, Remus smiled. This movement, however, proved too much, and his humour immediately dissolved into gasping pain. A poor reaction in hindsight, for his eyes automatically burst open as he coughed shallowly, and a roiling sensation of rising sickness gripped his insides.
Through red clouds of pain and nausea, Remus grasped desperately about his bed for a bedpan, a bin, anything, quickly – and brushed against some form of concave container just in time.
His muscles burned as his stomach heaved, and dizziness swelled behind his eyes as he convulsed forward, again and again. These were the moments that defined his weakness. These were the moments that confirmed, time and time again, the ugliness, the pain, the seclusion of lycanthropy. These were the moments that nobody could share or understand, or even pity. As he wretched, only one thought registered: he deserved it all.
Werewolf. Pain. Nausea. The full moon showed him for the monster he was, and punished him for it. A glowing orb mocked him still, even here and now, as he moaned in agony. You get what you deserve, werewolf. Enjoy your just deserts, and you can cry about it, because you are weak. Let your snot run into your vomit, werewolf, and shut your eyes from your own cowardice.
Eventually, Remus fell back against his pillows, exhausted. His limp body still heaved, but could produce nothing but tears now, salt tears that burned fiercely into his wounds. Through a haze of pain and fatigue, he heard his own gasping moans between sobs, and he hated himself for it.
Even now, tired as he was in every feasible way, sleep wouldn't capture him, offer him some escape from this hell. He had just begun to wonder why Madam Pomfrey hadn't come and started forcing vile potions down his throat when he heard her soft footsteps approaching his bed. His relief was palpable.
He didn't dare open his eyes as he heard his curtains being whisked gently open. It was only when he realised that the footsteps had stopped abruptly that his nausea began to share room in his stomach with building panic.
His worst fears were confirmed at what he heard next:
"Is he in there?" hissed an impatient voice from somewhere beyond the curtain.
Whoever was being addressed made no reply. Remus wondered if by keeping his eyes closed he could somehow magically convert this nightmare into a horrifying dream.
Any such hope died with finality as two more sets of footsteps padded lightly over to his bed as if tiptoeing. This time, Remus knew that the ensuing silence was the product of horror. With more courage than he would have believed he possessed, he slowly opened his eyes and prepared to face his friends' condemnation.
Three white, shocked faces gaped back at him. Dully, Remus noted that James had a handful of curtain crushed within his fist. He saw that the bowl of his vomit still rested between his knees, and remembered his tears with a fresh wave of shame. He attempted to reach for the bowl, to remove this damning evidence from sight, but fresh pain rippled through his body and gave a new bite to his nausea.
Remus bit his lip to hide his moan, but his movement seemed to have knocked his friends out of their shock, and he sank back fearfully as they all seemed to rush towards him.
"Remus-"
"Are you oka-"
"How could you hide this from us?"
It was Sirius' broken accusation that cut the others short. Remus gazed desperately towards his friend's darkening face, still somehow fighting against the knowledge that he had lost the only friends he had ever had. As the sudden silence seemed to become increasingly hostile, Remus shut his eyes and knew that he had to summon up the will and the energy to explain. He owed it to his friends.
He coughed feebly, and tried to remember how to speak.
"How- how did you find out?" he asked finally in a raspy, quiet voice. Unable to meet Sirius' accusing eyes, he gazed instead at the metal sheen of the bowl in front of him, resigned to see that he had acquired a new scar slashing across his hairline during the night. Dimly, he registered that he would have to grow his fringe longer from now on. His exhausted reverie was interrupted by James' hesitant, shaking response. Sirius, Remus supposed, was reluctant to converse further with a werewolf.
"Last night, before the feast, we – Sirius followed you out of the Common Room. And saw you meet with Madam Pomfrey in the Entrance Hall. He saw you go beneath the Whomping Willow. We- Fang came to the feast with Hagrid." James suddenly laughed, shakily, before lapsing back into his uncharacteristically hesitant explanation. "Fang was a brilliant were- I mean- he- howled, and I swear Snape wet himself, but Dumbledore just stood up and congratulated Hagrid on his talented pet, and then Fang stole a chicken from the teachers' table, you should've seen it, but- anyway. Sirius, I think, put two and two together, about you, I mean. You know, it was entirely obvious, anyway."
Remus, who had been contemplating pulling the bowl back towards him during James' convoluted speech, could have torn the hair out of his head in shame and utter wretchedness at this point. It was; it was entirely obvious that he was a werewolf, just look at him. What a coward. Couldn't even vomit in the appropriate receptacle.
James hurried on, his wide eyes dilating further in what was probably a reaction to the look on Remus' face.
"It was obvious, I mean, because, well, you've been away so often! So regularly. And with such terrible excuses, me and Sirius have been wondering for ages- well, it all just fit together so perfectly when Sirius realised, when Fang howled. The full moon was right up there, you know, on the ceiling of the Great Hall. We've been completely stupid, you know."
"Completely stupid," Remus repeated, his mouth dry and foul-tasting. Yes, they had all been completely stupid; them for accepting a werewolf into their friendship group, him for allowing them to get close to a dangerous monster.
"You idiot," Sirius suddenly spat, prompting the shocked regard of James and a trembling Peter. "You complete and utter prat."
Remus closed his eyes and prepared himself. This was it. This was the moment when they cast him out forever, and promised to tell the entire school that Dumbledore had been harbouring a werewolf amongst the students.
He peeped out of his blood-shot eyes as heavy footsteps thumped closer to his bed, and was stunned and vaguely horrified to see that Sirius was now leaning over him, gripping the iron bed frame with white knuckles. Remus flinched as the black-haired boy cursed violently, grabbing the befouled metal bowl and shoving it under the bed.
As Sirius straightened, he fixed the shivering Remus with a terrible glare. "You think that we're going to abandon you now, don't you," he glowered. "You think that we're going to cast out the werewolf who's been our friend for three whole years. You make me sick."
At this, Remus' world span sickeningly, and he was only able to keep his eyes open out of the strength of his own self-loathing. He deserved to pay full attention as his friends rejected him. He saw James rush forward and grab Sirius by the shoulder, his bespectacled face twisted with a mixture of anger, sorrow and pain that Remus understood perfectly. Sirius allowed himself to be manhandled, but continued, biting out the words as he stared contemptuously down into the bed.
"I come from a family of pure bloods, Remus," he continued harshly, "and you know what our family motto is? Toujours pur, my clever friend, 'always pure'. We can't stand mudbloods, you know-" he spat on the floor- "not to mention bloody werewolves. And you know what hurts me right now? The fact that you're classing me right back in with those intolerant bastards."
As Sirius stopped with a halting, pronounced finality, Remus stared right back into his stormy eyes. He could scarcely allow himself to register the meaning of Sirius' words. False hope now only led to further devastation later, but now James was grasping his hand, and pulling his protesting body up into a rough hug, and Remus flinched reactively as Sirius threw his arms around them both, pressing his cheek to Remus' clammy forehead.
"You prat," Sirius kept mumbling darkly, "you stupid prat," and then the bed sank further as Peter joined the others. Shock, and a desperate unwillingness to breathe, were the only things that held Remus together. Finally, he couldn't take it any more, and shoved the others aside, gesturing fiercely for his metal bowl.
A few, ghastly minutes later, as his nausea slowly subsided into a manageable queasiness, Remus was able to raise his head and stare, with renewed disbelief, at the assembled, compassionate faces of his friends. Sirius glared through his compassion, but Remus could feel it nonetheless.
"What do you want from me?" he finally mumbled, dropping his eyes to the multitude of scratches on the inside of his right wrist. He felt his hopes plummeting in the next silent moment, until James suddenly sat back on the bed, and reclined gracefully, folding his arms behind his back.
"Always wanted to meet a werewolf," he said conversationally, prompting Remus to scowl bitterly from the pillows beside him.
"No, you did not," he snapped, shoving his bandaged arms towards James with no small amount of pain. "I did this to myself. Think of what those claws could do to you."
James' casual demeanour evaporated immediately, and he sat back up, staring desperately at his angry friend.
"I'm so sorry, Remus. It must be hell, absolute hell, for you."
From behind Sirius, Peter nodded fervently, his eyes still bright with fear. Remus lowered his head, determined that his friends wouldn't see the truth of that statement reflected in his face. After a moment, James continued.
"We really don't care, Remus. You could be a- a- a-"
"A werewolf?" Remus said lightly, but feelingly. If his friends were going to make cavalier expressions of solidarity and stupidity, he wanted to ensure that these statements were rooted even slightly in truth.
"Merlin, you could be a Slytherin," James exclaimed, choking out a chuckle as Sirius' face twisted into an expression of disgust. "Alright, I wouldn't go that far, but you could be some pretty terrible things for all I care."
"Do you mean that?" Remus asked quietly. "You really can't understand what it is to be a werewolf. No matter what you think now, you can't imagine how dangerous I can be during the full moon."
"We want to find out," James said resolutely, "we are going to find out, because we are your friends, Remus. Why should you go through this alone every month? You look like hell, by the way," he added in a matter-of-fact tone, and Remus grimaced as Peter nodded his agreement. "And besides… I like dogs," he offered, smiling weakly.
"No you don't," Remus mumbled. "You despise muddy paws, remember?"
"Sure I like dogs," James objected. "I mean, aside from the fleas, and the stench, and the mud, and the slobber- oh, wait, I'm meant to be talking about dogs, not Sirius, right?"
Remus' heart sank as Sirius didn't even make a half-hearted response to James' feeble jibe. Sirius just stood there like an ominous statue, his eyes unreadable, fixed in a glare. It was only when Peter shoved past him to sit next to James on the bed that he seemed to be roused from his anger, and Remus would be forever grateful for that next moment, when he was joined in his bed by all three of his friends, all of whom knew his darkest secret, none of whom cared.
They just sat there in a companionable silence until Remus' throat, choked closed with unshed tears, could be cleared well enough to ask why Madam Pomfrey hadn't discovered them yet.
"Oh, Poppy?" James said breezily, examining his nails. "I think she mentioned something about the Slytherins, didn't she?"
"Yeah," Sirius responded, his gloomy face lit by a sudden burst of humour, "something about a skin condition, what was it again?"
Peter jumped for his cue. "They sprouted grey fur and started howling, didn't they?"
Even Remus joined in as the other three began to howl with a laughter that, though still slightly hysterical, was preferable to any of the other outcomes of this confrontation that Remus could ever dream of.