Disclaimer: I neither own the intellectual property of the Harry Potter universe, nor do profit from this work produced here.
Warnings: a creepy rendition of your favorite childhood story by one Fenrir Greyback (first section).
The death eater fell to the ground in front of her, unconscious, and Lavender took a moment to push back her mop of sweaty blonde curls out of her face. Her heart was jackhammering in its ribcage; she glanced quickly out over the railing of the balcony behind her and saw that the Great Hall was filled with jets of colored light and a hundred figures twisting and turning in their own desperate, private battles. She'd just finished one or two of her own.
Oh Merlin, what was she doing here? Lavender Brown wasn't a fighter by nature; she was a caretaker. She looked after people, kissed their owies away and- as of the last eight months- had played amateur healer to her fellow students while Madame Pomfrey was stuck helplessly under the watch of the Carrows. Now here she was, in the midst of bloody battle, and she hadn't half an idea of what to do.
She was beginning to wish she'd paid a bit more attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
A low noise, like a wild animal's growl, met her ears, and Lavender turned, glancing up the main staircase. She felt her blood freeze. A little fourth-year boy, a Gryffindor who'd obviously snuck back into the battle, was whimpering and seemingly wandless, frozen in his place. A large figure with greasy hair was prowling closer, like an animal on the hunt. Even as she watched, the boy began to cry.
"Hey!" she cried out, before she really knew what she was doing, and sent a quick stinging hex flying up the stairs. It hit the man directly in the back, and he let out a sharp howl of pain, whirling around. "You leave him alo- al-…" Her voice shook and died. Lavender noticed dimly that the boy took the opportunity to scamper, running for the corridor, but her relief at this was dashed as she realized whom exactly she'd just hexed.
Fenrir Greyback caught sight of her and grinned- a cruel, ruthless grin with teeth filed to a point. "Well now," he growled, "what have we here?"
Lavender waved her wand hastily; a stunning spell flew towards the man, but bounced off him like a weak rictumsempra. Her breath caught in her throat. Oh no. Oh, no…
"Hello, girl," the werewolf said, pacing down the stairs. His feet clunked with every step. "Now what's a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?"
"S-stay away from me." Her voice quavered; the thin stave of willow-wood shook in her hands.
The werewolf laughed. "Look at you. Trembling like a leaf." Another step; his nostrils flared, like a foxhound catching a scent.
"G-get back! Reducto!"
He moved out of the way faster than she would have thought possible of such a hulking creature, like a wolf dodging an arrow. Lavender let out a whimper of fright. "R-reducto. Reducto!"
Two more blasts; chips of stone exploded from the stairs behind him, and he laughed again. "Didn't you ever hear the story of Little Red Cloak, girl?" She realized, too late, that he was carrying a stolen wand; with a jet of red light, her own went flying from her grasp. Lavender let out a low, choked moan of fear.
"There was once a little witch who went at dusk to her grandmother's cottage to bring her a potion," he began, stalking forward. "On the way, she came across a man. He had long, shiny teeth. He had long, sharp nails. He had big, yellow eyes, yellow as the coming harvest moon."
He took another step towards her, idle, almost careless; Lavender stumbled backwards towards the edge of the balcony. "He asked the stupid little witch where she was going. 'To grandmother's cottage to bring her her potion!'" His voice pitched itself eerily high, and then descended again to a growling chuckle. "She was a very stupid little girl. The man let her go on her way, but when the little witch arrived at the cottage, there was something wrong with grandmother."
He leered at her, yellow eyes glimmering with hunger. "Grandmother had long, white teeth. Grandmother had long, sharp nails. Grandmother's eyes were big and yellow. And the witch realized that Grandmother was not Grandmother at all. And do you know what the big, bad wolf told Little Red Cloak?"
Lavender cried out as she hit the railing of the balcony. The werewolf did not seem to notice. "He said, 'Pretty girls shouldn't go off all alone. Pretty girls should stay at home with their mothers. Pretty girls need to be rescued, and I don't see a woodsman around tonight, do you?'"
Lavender sobbed. "And then the big, bad wolf smiled his big, sharp smile," Greyback growled. "And he gobbled her right up."
The girl screamed.
The wolf lunged.
Lavender shot upright in bed, clawing at her sheets and bawling like an infant. "Get him off me! Get him off me! Get him- get him-"
It was several more minutes of sobbing and pleading before she realized where she was. When at last she caught sight of her bedroom walls- the rose-patterned wallpaper, the antique white vanity and dresser, the little figurines of unicorns and fairies perched on the shelves- she let out a low moan of relief and lay back down in her bed. It was a dream, she thought to herself. Just an awful dream.
Except, she realized a few moments later, it hadn't been. Lavender Brown shuddered and closed her eyes. That thing- that beast-
With almost violent swiftness, she threw off her feather duvet and sprang out of bed. A moment later she realized this had been a mistake, letting out a gasp of pain as her sore joints cried out in protest. Pausing to let the ache fade, she glanced around her bedroom, searching for a suitable distraction from her thoughts.
The room looked empty, the way it always did at the end of summer holiday when most of her possessions had been packed into her trunk, but it also looked… lonely, uninhabited. Too neat, really, with every little trinket or knick-knack tucked away in its proper place, evidence that no one had lived in it for quite some time. Her trunk sat at the end of her bed, already packed with her school uniforms and her books. Lavender hadn't purchased them herself, of course; she supposed that her mother had done so, when she wasn't at St. Mungo's clasping anxiously at her daughter's hand as if Lavender were (still) on her deathbed. In fact, the girl hadn't had time to visit anywhere at all, let alone Diagon Alley, as she'd only just returned home the night before due to St. Mungo's requests for additional testing.
Lavender hadn't objected to that in the slightest. Naturally, she hated being poked and prodded as much as anyone else (and to be honest she quite abhorred needles) but she, too, wanted answers: answers to why fate had cheated her, why Greyback and his disease hadn't played fair, why she was the exception to the rules of how, when and where a victim could be turned. Before, she wouldn't have cared one jot about what happened when an untransformed werewolf bit its prey. Now she was the case study, all thanks to one Fenrir Greyback.
With a sigh, she managed a sort of stiff shuffle over to the window and opened the rose-patterned curtains. Chinks of silvery moonlight poured in through the glass, painting the room shades of white and gray-blue shadow. The girl swallowed and looked up at the large waning moon, the great pearly orb reflecting a shining white in her gold eyes. She detested her new eyes. Bright gold and almost hawkish, they reminded her so much of him that for days afterwards, she had refused to look in a mirror. Her chocolate-brown irises had been one of her favorite features; now they, too, were gone. One more thing the first full moon had taken from her.
"…Here we are, my dear."
Lavender stared at the heavy metal door with an unpleasant feeling in her stomach. Sister Anne, a young healer of about twenty-five, waved her wand at the door and Lavender heard a lock click open– a curious thing, considering she couldn't see one on the door. The healer noted her surprise and said by way of explanation, "It's on the inside; you can't get it open except with magic. Didn't want to take any chances, you see."
Lavender did.
She waited as the healer turned the handle and opened the door, peering to catch her first glimpse of the room inside. "Come now, dear; it's perfectly safe," Sister Anne called over her shoulder, and the blonde witch dutifully followed her inside, still limping stiffly from a particularly nasty bite in her leg.
The room was… dismal, to say the least. The walls were probably clinical white when lit, but in the fading twilight from the window, appeared a dull gray. There was no light on the ceiling, nor any furniture; the room was entirely bare save for a small window at about eye-level, too tight for man or beast to squeeze through and barred to boot. On either side of the window was a metal basket with a locking lid, and a small clock, both fastened securely to the wall and at least six feet up. Long, gouging scratches covered the floor and the lower portion of the walls, and Lavender swallowed.
Sister Anne noticed her discomfort and set a hand on the girl's shoulder. "I know it looks dreadful," she said gently. "I keep telling Mother Maria we should at least put up a coat of paint, but there's not really funding for that sort of thing, I'm afraid."
"It could do with a nice throw rug or two," Lavender agreed aloud, and then bit her lip. A throw rug? Honestly? She knew full well the purpose of this room, and somehow, she got the sense that werewolves didn't really appreciate the nuances of fine décor.
Oh, Merlin's boots. What was she saying? This room wasn't for a "them," for some nameless "other," an unknown wizard waiting anxiously to find out his fate… no, tonight, this room was for her.
Anne saw her face change and sighed, pulling her into a hug. "Oh, you poor dear," she murmured. "Believe you me, if there were any other way… we can't risk the Wolfsbane now, I'm afraid, but I wish there was something more we could do for you." She drew back and looked the younger witch in the eyes. "No matter what happens, I want you to know that things will turn out alright in the end."
Lavender's mouth trembled. "But what if-?"
"No buts. Odds are we're all being right silly and you'll be just fine, but if not… well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now, you remember what you're to do?"
"The moon rises at eight twenty-four," the blonde recited anxiously. "I'm to wait until half-past; if nothing happens, then I can unlock the door and leave. If not… if not, you'll collect me in the morning."
"Good girl. Let me see, it's just past quarter-to, so you have a little under ten minutes to go. Try to relax, hm?"
"Relax. Fine." Oh, Merlin.
Sister Anne squeezed her shoulder kindly and said, "Good luck, dear. I'll be here when you're through."
"Thank you." It was the most she could muster; she suddenly felt very faint. Sister Anne gave her a smile and then left, shutting the door behind her. Lavender heard the lock click a few moments later, and then all was silent, save for the ticking of the clock. She glanced to it; eight-seventeen. Her heart gave a hard thump. Seven minutes.
Legs weak, she paced over to the window and made to open the small cage in which her wand was remain- hopefully, for no longer than the next quarter-hour. The cage was locked, but the key hung on a short chain from its side; impossible for a mindless beast to work open, but easy enough for a human. Unfortunately, her hands were shaking so terribly it took her three times just to get the key in the lock. When at last she'd managed it and had closed the cover again, she forced herself to glance to the clock. Her heart began to pound. Five minutes.
Oh, Merlin. Oh Merlin, oh Morgana, she couldn't do this. She couldn't be a werewolf, couldn't be the same sort of monster that cut her down with those awful, hungry eyes. This was just a precaution, she tried to remind herself, just a silly precaution, she was not a werewolf, she couldn't be, it hadn't been a full moon-
She swayed and found her hand gripping the bars of the window, looking out over London. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps, blood rushing through her ears. The twilight was growing lighter at the edge of the city to the east; the moon was near to rising. It struck her suddenly that the buildings blocking the view meant that the pain of the transformation itself, not the sight of the full moon, would be her first and only indication as to whether her greatest fears were true.
Her eyes slid to the clock; against her will she whimpered. Three minutes. The ticking of the clock seemed to intensify, and she looked to the growing twilight. Was this panic she felt the wolf's restlessness? Was the ache in her bones the beast struggling to get out? Was she already a monster?
Two minutes. She sucked in a breath, but no air reached her lungs. Oh Merlin, oh please…
One minute. Lavender whimpered again, tears in her eyes, gripping at the bars of the window.
Thirty seconds. Twenty. Ten.
Oh Merlin. Oh, please, no.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
Oh, please, oh, please-
Six.
Five.
Four.
PLEASE-
Three-
Two-
She let out a strangled sob, and her heart gave a last, final thud.
One.
Pain split through her spine, agony as acute as if she had been shocked with a bolt of electricity. She screamed as her bones broke and lengthened, reordering themselves, fur was sprouting from her hands and pain and fear were filling her mouth, her nose and she could smell the blood, she needed to feed, oh no, oh, no no NO PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE–
But the beast didn't listen. The beast took over, raging, devouring, and then everything was madness and blood.
Wrenched from her memories, Lavender shuddered again and pressed a hand to her mouth, suddenly feeling quite ill. Five full moons. Five transformations into the thing, the terrifying, animalistic form that confirmed that she was now the same sort of brutish creature that had viciously savaged her four months previous. That first transformation, without the Wolfsbane, had been…. had been horrifying. Waking up the morning after was even worse. Perhaps it was just her dramatic sentimentality, but Lavender had even given that day a name: May 6th, The Day Life Took a Turn for the Absolute Worst.
Mm. She wrinkled her nose a bit. Definitely dramatics.
But then, didn't she have a bit of a right to dramatics at the moment? Lavender Brown was not the sort of person you expected to get turned into a werewolf. She wasn't tragic or unfortunate, she was pretty and vivacious and (on her worst days) maybe a tad shallow. Bad things didn't happen to her, not until last year. But then, bad things were happening to everyone then so that didn't really count. Now…
Voldemort was dead. This was peacetime. Wasn't everything supposed to be better now?
She glanced up to the sky imploringly. The moon glittered down at her coldly in the crisp autumn air and didn't answer. With another exhausted sigh, she glanced to the clock; it was nearly half-three. She knew she really ought to go back to bed, make up some of the lost sleep from the transformation two nights previous, but she couldn't. Perhaps it was the nightmare, or the restless call of the moon in her blood, still strong just two nights after her latest transformation.
As a compromise, she settled into the white rocking chair next to the window and began combing through her blonde ringlets with her fingers. The sleeves of her nightdress fell back as she did so, the moon bathing her white, scarred arms with light, like veined marble. Her whole body bore the marks of who and what she was: most, like the jagged, rippled cords that cut across her face, were evidence of Greyback's attack. A few of the others, including four on her arms and six on her legs, she had inflicted upon herself. The Sisters of St. Mungo had tended her as best they could– they were exceptionally kind people, never too proud to tend to a poor soul in need, even if their patient was a werewolf– but the cursed wounds could never fully heal.
Lavender curled up in the chair, sniffling despite herself and not really caring if she looked pathetic. The scars were no mere deformity, nor the badges of honor worn proudly by a war hero. No, her scars marked her as a monstrosity, an outcast from society, a beauty-turned-beast. The wolf lived inside her now, and nothing would ever root it out again.
It was many hours later when her eyes fluttered open again, squinting in the bright sunlight. She supposed she must have fallen asleep at some point; the few hours' rest had done wonders for her mood, but the tight knot of worry returned when she recalled the day's coming events. The dreaded date had finally come to pass, for it was now the third day after the full moon and time for her to return to school.
With a sigh, Lavender arose rocking chair and set about getting ready for the day. With great precision, she dressed in her nicest school uniform, did her makeup and clipped a bow into her curly hair. There was no way to hide the scars or disguise what she was, but that hardly excused one from trying her best to look presentable.
Her mother was waiting with tea, fried eggs and lemon scones when she came downstairs for a late breakfast. "I had Trinky make your favorite," she informed her daughter with a cheerfulness that almost masked her nervousness. "The first day of term is a big day, and a girl should be properly fed for it."
"Ooh, lovely; thank you," Lavender said eagerly, taking a fried egg and a scone. Trinky's cooking, in her opinion, had always surpassed those of the school house-elves. "Where's Papa?"
"He had to go in early to work today; he said to tell you he was sorry he couldn't see you off."
Lavender nodded, although she wasn't sure she believed it. Her father had been altogether too silent and distant for the last four months, and though it hurt, she couldn't really blame him for being repulsed. Lavender knew full well she was lucky to still have a family. Everyone had heard the stories of what happened to werewolves who were thrown out in the streets: homeless, unable to find jobs or education, many were forced to run with a pack and give in to the beast just to survive. She felt a shiver of revulsion run down her back. Hunching in caves, covered in grime and muck and eating her meat raw– now that was no way to live.
"It's a shame you have to start a week late," her mother continued primly, apparently unaware of her daughter's spinning thoughts, "but I'm sure your classmates will help you catch up. That Hermione Granger is in your year, isn't she? She could help you."
Lavender scowled. "I don't think Granger is going to want to help me, Mum." The woman tilted her head in confusion, and Lavender clarified, "She's dating Ron Weasely now, remember? It's been in all the papers." Even if she did save my life...
"Oh, of course. Well, you must do your best anyway." She clucked her tongue. "Besides, you'll get to see all your other little friends! Aren't you excited?"
"Er- yes. Terribly excited." Trust her mother, Lavender thought privately, to announce her doomsday like a pleasant noon luncheon. The girl had no desire whatever to reunite with any of her "little friends." She had been somewhat cloistered in St. Mungo's for the large majority of the summer; aside from receiving a list of the surviving and deceased of the May battle, she'd had no contact with the outside world in the slightest. This was, in fact, by her own design: she had requested of the healers that no one be allowed to see her save her family, and had adamantly refused to return any of Parvati or Padma's owls. She knew it was silly- knew full well that eventually the truth of what she was would come out- but she wanted to put off the moment from when she had many friends to when she dropped to exactly zero for as long as possible.
Isolation, however, did not suit Lavender well, and in the end she had struck up a certain friendship with several of the healers who worked the Llewellyn Ward, including Sister Anne, who liked to cheer her patients up by singing whenever she came into the ward, and Mother Maria Faustina, the Superior of the Order of St. Mungo and, consequentially, the head of the hospital. Mother Maria was a force to be reckoned with (or, better yet, not reckoned with), as she ran her hospital like a convent of old and tolerated no nonsense from lay-healer or nun alike. While Sister Anne had been the one to comfort the distraught Lavender after the May full moon, it was Mother Maria who had talked sense into her terrified parents:
"Now listen here, the both of you– oh, for goodness' sake, Mrs. Brown, take the hanky if you need it!– I understand full well that this is a tragedy and a shock, but the two of you need to pull yourselves together, and you need to do it quickly. I have seen too many people, good people with families and loved ones, be abandoned in this very ward because of fear and misunderstanding, and I won't stand for it today. Whatever her illness, your daughter is no more a dark creature than you or I; quite the contrary, she is a brave and strong young lady, and any parent should be proud to have her."
"Lavender? Lavender, dear, are you listening to me?"
She started and looked across the table. Her mother was frowning with concern. "Sorry, Mum. Suppose I drifted off for a bit; what were you saying?"
Her mother frowned a bit deeper, but only said, "I was just wondering when the Headmistress was expecting you?"
"Twelve sharp, Mum." She checked the clock; it was already half-eleven. "I'd best go fetch my trunk, yes?"
"Oh, nonsense; finish your breakfast. I'll get your things."
She watched her mother disappear up the stairs, before hastily helping herself to three more fried eggs, desperate for anything with protein. She wolfed- er- bolted them down before her mother could reappear at the top of the stairs, levitating the trunk with her wand. Lavender hastily dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and took a bite of her scone.
Soon enough, it was nearing noon, and her mother was anxiously waiting beside the fireplace, checking and re-checking the floo powder in the little crystal dish atop the white-molded mantelpiece. "Are you ready, darling?" she called to where Lavender was still sitting at the dining room table, the eggs and scones long since gone cold.
Not actually, no. Of course, she could hardly say that, and so she replied as pleasantly as she could manage, "Coming, mum."
Her mother handed her a pinch of green powder as she approached, trunk tilted up on its end. "Now remember to keep good hold of that trunk; we wouldn't want it to end up in some random stranger's fireplace in Scotland, would we?"
"No, Mum."
"And be good for your teachers- and keep out of trouble-" She straightened her daughter's collar, a bit flustered. "And darling- if you ever need anything-"
"I know, Mum," she reassured her. "Besides, I'll be alright."
Her mother smiled a little uncertainly. "That's my good girl." She reached out to touch her daughter's cheek, and then thought better of it when Lavender flinched, patting her shoulder instead. "Oh, before you go…" She waved her wand; a magazine came flying across the room. Lavender caught it and gasped.
"Witch Weekly? But the next issue isn't due until Friday; you never let me see it early!"
Her mother winked. "The editor can break her own rules every now and again." She nodded to the fireplace. "Go on, we wouldn't want to be late for Professor McGonagall."
Lavender managed a small giggle. "Right." She kissed her mother on the cheek, and then tossed the powder into the fireplace. Green flames erupted, and she stepped inside. "Hogwarts, Headmistress's Hearth!"
The hearth promptly began to spin around her at a dizzying pace. She caught one last sight of her mother's worried face, before the sitting room vanished from sight. A hundred half-glimpses of other people's houses and lives flashed past her eyes, before she came to an abrupt halt and stumbled out of the fireplace onto a red carpet, coughing slightly as ash tickled her throat.
Professor McGonagall glanced up from her paperwork. "Good afternoon, Miss Brown."
"Hello, Professor." She noted, with no mild relief, that McGonagall only briefly glanced over her scars, a flicker of pity crossing her face, before nodding firmly and rising to her feet, a thin file in hand.
"Here you are," she said smartly, handing the file to Lavender. "That's your class schedule and any of your missed assignments. Mind you sign the schedule and file it with your Head of House straightaways; he's in class at the moment, but he has a break at quarter-past. You have the rest of the day to settle in, but you are expected in class tomorrow morning. Professor Slughorn will be providing you with Wolfsbane each month, and you're to report to the Hospital Wing two hours before moonrise for each transformation; Madame Pomfrey has had a special room made up for you. You can leave your trunk here; I'll have it sent up to your dormitory."
All of this information came so quickly that the girl blinked, taking a moment to sort it all through. "Oh. Um, yes. Thank you."
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Naturally. Oh, and I'll have the house elves leave a set of nickel tableware on your nightstand before lunch. I would suggest keeping them in your school bag."
"Ah. Yes." She hadn't even thought of that. "Well, er, I suppose I'd best be going then?"
"Indeed. Have a good day, Miss Brown."
Lavender realized that this was a dismissal. As she headed for the door, she glanced back. McGonagall had returned to her paperwork. "Er- Professor?"
The Headmistress glanced up. Lavender hesitated, and then concluded, "…Thank you, truly. I know that- well, I'm sure letting me back in wasn't a very popular decision."
The professor's face was inscrutable, but Lavender thought she saw a hint of a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. "You're quite welcome, Miss Brown."
Remus Lupin waited until the last student closed the classroom door behind them, and let out a low sigh and sank wearily into his desk chair.
He had a headache. Well, that wasn't surprising; he hadn't slept well the night before the transformation and of course he could rarely manage anything more than a light doze in his wolfish form, but this was not helped by the fact that Teddy had been restless and fussy all the last two days following the transformation. While Dora had handled it the first night, he'd insisted on taking care of Teddy during the second, knowing his wife had had an extraordinarily long first full day back at work. Still, a sleepless night was a sleepless night, and now the fatigue of three of them in the same week was washing over him.
Just as he was about to retreat up to his office (and the nice, cushy armchair he'd installed therein), a silvery-white light jumped through his door. He groaned against his will, and the patronus tabby raised an eyebrow.
"You're looking peaky," the cat informed him, rather unnecessarily, in McGonagall's voice. "Are you sure you oughtn't cancel lessons?"
"I already took off Monday; couldn't very well do it again," he replied ironically. "I'll just catch a quick kip during lunch."
"Mm. I'm afraid that might have to wait, Remus; Miss Brown's just flooed in, and she'll be up any minute now."
Suddenly he was wide-awake. "Lavender's arrived?"
"Indeed she has. I told her your class ended at quarter-past; she needs to file her class schedule." The tabby looked as if it wanted to say something more, but held its tongue.
Remus understood. "Of course," he agreed with a nod. "Don't worry, Professor; I'll take care of it."
"Thank you, Remus. I'll have Poppy send you down a pepper-up potion in an hour."
"Really, Professor, you needn't-" But his protestations fell on deaf ears; the cat leapt gracefully back through the door and disappeared.
Remus sighed and lowered his head onto his arms. Hopefully Lavender would afford him at least ten minutes; three sleepless nights in a row was not his ideal style of teaching.
Precisely eight and a half minutes later, he heard his door squeak against the frame, and quickly sat up straight again. His heartbeat quickened, and he realized that he was anxious. Five years and so many changes had passed since last he'd seen this particular student, and he wasn't quite sure what he ought to say to help her. Saying a quick prayer for inspiration, he watched the door and waited with baited breath.
The door opened the rest of the way, and a young woman paced into the room, head down, curly honey-blonde hair swept in front of her face and a class file clutched protectively to her chest. "I'm, ah, I'm here to check in with my head of house?" she said hesitantly, face still half-hidden from view.
"Of course," Remus replied, and found to his relief that his voice sounded quite at ease. "Miss Brown, am I correct?"
Lavender glanced up, startled; it was only after she'd raised her head that the professor saw the startlingly bright gold eyes, even more distinctive than his amber-hazel own, and- more shockingly- the three knotted, white scars, crossing diagonally down her face from left to right. "Professor Lupin!" she exclaimed, and instantly seemed a little more at ease. "I hadn't realized- I thought-"
"McGonagall must not have told you; I've been reinstated- promoted as well, actually. Quite understandable, my dear." He smiled kindly. "I suppose you have all your courses laid out for the semester?"
"Um, yes- here-" She reached into the file and pulled out a fresh half-sheet of parchment, on which were written several course descriptions in McGonagall's fluid script. "She just said to file it with the head of house…"
"Very good; just let me see that, then…" She handed it to him, and he glanced it over; all core classes, plus Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. "Everything appears to be in order; I'll just file this and send a copy back to the Headmistress."
She nodded. "Thank you… do you, er, do you happen to know where I could find Professor Slughorn?" She flushed slightly and lowered her eyes, before she seemed to remember to whom exactly she was speaking and looked up hesitantly.
"Yes, I believe he'll be starting class in a few minutes down in the dungeons- although I wouldn't fret, my dear, we have a few more weeks before we need any potion, yes?" He offered her a smile.
She returned it with a half-smile of her own. "Right. Well, I'll try not to forget."
It was an ironic statement, one that only the two of them in the entire school could possibly understand. Forgetting the date was a tad difficult when every day was a countdown to the next full moon. He wasn't at all surprised when her smile slipped, and the girl bit her lip hesitantly. "Er- Professor, has anyone told the others about, well…"
"Your dorm-mates were informed of your condition yesterday evening," Remus replied carefully. "I am sorry we did so without your permission, but I've found from personal experience that it's better not to spring this sort of information on one's friends, especially ones you happen to live with."
"Right," Lavender said again nervously. "And, er, how did they take it?"
"I'm afraid I didn't actually have the honors," said Lupin apologetically. "But I would imagine that Hermione Granger, at least, was not terribly upset by the revelation."
"Oh." The girl looked a bit queasy; Remus recalled that Hermione had been the one to defend her from Greyback, as well as the fact that Lavender was the girl Ron had been seeing two years previous. "Well then." She swallowed. "I suppose I'd better go down to lunch…"
She looked as if this prospect was entirely unappetizing; Remus could empathize. Stepping into a crowded Great Hall was no way to have a whole school find out about terrifying diseases and the like. "If you want," he said kindly, "I could have one of the house-elves send you up a little something to eat."
Lavender blinked a little, startled, and then nodded. "That would be wonderful," she agreed fervently. "Thank you, Professor."
"No trouble, my dear, no trouble. Why don't you go settle in? I imagine you're still quite tired; I know I am."
"I think I will, thank you. Good afternoon, Professor."
As Lavender turned to go, he impulsively added, "Lavender?" She turned back, startled. He hesitated, and then stood. "As head of house, I'm entrusted with the duty of ensuring the health and wellbeing of all my students," he said calmly. "If you are ever in need of anything, please, don't hesitate to ask."
Lavender stared for a moment, and then managed a small smile. "…Thank you, Professor. I will. Have a nice day."
"You as well, Lavender." She nodded, looking a great deal more at ease, and then slipped outside the office, closing the door behind him.
Remus waited until he heard her footsteps pacing down the stone hall, before turning and trudging up the stairs to his office. He checked the clock and found it was half-past. Excellent. At least thirty minutes for a nap.
He set the bells to chime extra-loudly at one, and then slumped happily into his armchair and closed his eyes. After a moment, he winked one open and waved his wand at the door, muttering an anti-patronus charm for good measure.
It was quarter to six when the sound of padding footsteps on the stairs roused Lavender from her sleep. She'd been dozing on her four-poster, the latest copy of Witch Weakly, opened to the new section on dress robes, resting on her stomach. Quickly, she sat up and listened intently. It was one of the few perks of being a werewolf: all of her senses were heightened, including her hearing, and she could easily distinguish to whom each set of footsteps belonged. There were four of them: the first, light and graceful, were undoubtedly Parvati Patil's; the second, quick and sharp, those of Hermione Granger; and the last two, heavy for one and mouse-like shuffling for the other, belonged to Eloise Midgen and Fay Dunbar, respectively.
A moment after these revelations had impressed themselves upon her, the door opened, and the four girls came in. Lavender quickly hid her face in the magazine.
"-I don't think I can take any more of those outside lessons," Eloise complained loudly.
"You can't very well expect not to be cold if you won't wear a cloak," Hermione reproved. "Besides, it's Care of Magical Creatures; it wouldn't exactly be safe to study fire crabs inside, would it?"
"Oh, what do you know about it; you're in Arrithma-" Eloise stopped short. So did the other three. Lavender determinedly stared at a mauve robe with a matching hat and waited for someone to speak.
"Er- hi, Lavender," Hermione said hesitantly. "Nice to see you again."
The blonde girl glanced up, startled, and Hermione felt as if someone had kicked her in the stomach. Lavender's face, once so perfectly maintained by any number of skin-care potions and blemish-removing charms, was now marred by three long, puckered scars. As if this were not enough, her formerly brown eyes had now turned to a bright amber-gold. Lavender quickly looked down again to the magazine, the honey curls sweeping in front of her face like a veil. "Oh, um, hi, Hermione," she said uneasily.
The brunette witch glanced around to the other girls; Eloise and May were both staring open-mouthed; Parvati looked stunned to silence. Swallowing, she summoned her Gryffindor courage and walked over to Lavender's bed, stopping right in front of her. "Well, thank goodness you're back," she said firmly, and offered the blonde a warm smile when she looked up again, surprised. "I suppose you've gotten all your missed assignments?"
"Um, yes, but I haven't started them."
"Oh, that's no trouble; it's been mostly review work all week anyway, you know how it is, you should be able to get most of it done by tomorrow tonight if you start early-" She broke off suddenly, flushing. "Er- sorry."
"That's alright," Lavender giggled, sounding a little at last like her old self. "You spent the better part of a year traipsing around Great Britain; you've probably gotten used to micromanaging."
"Maybe just a bit." Hermione grinned and reached into her book-bag. "I'll get you my notes."
While Granger was distracted, Lavender took the opportunity to look over to her (former?) best friend. "Hello, Parvati," she said nervously.
"Hi," the Indian witch replied, looking just as uncertain. "Er- how're you doing?" Even as she said it, she winced.
"Fine." She tried to keep her tone airy and light, but she wasn't sure how well she was succeeding. "Bit tired, that's all."
At last, Parvati's resolve seemed to weaken, and she let out a sigh, hurrying over. "Oh, Lav, why didn't you just tell me?" she pleaded. "I was so worried, and you weren't answering any of my letters-"
"I didn't know how you'd react," Lavender answered, a bit miserably. "I thought- I mean-"
"You thought I wouldn't want to be friends with you."
The unspoken question hung in the air. After a moment, Parvati sat down on the bed beside her and hugged her fiercely.
"Of course I still want to be friends with you," she said sincerely, drawing back. "You're a hero, Lavender. I'm proud of you; we all are!"
"You mean it?" She nodded, and Lavender smiled. "You're the best, Vati."
Parvati waved her hand airily. "It's nothing." Suddenly, she seemed to notice the magazine and gasped. "Is that the new issue?"
"The very newest. Mum just gave it to me it this morning."
"Ooh, I heard there was supposed to be a section on winter cloaks! Can I see?" Without waiting for an answer, she picked up the magazine and began flipping through the pages.
And suddenly, it was like the whole last year had never happened. Hermione was fretting over schoolwork, Parvati was avidly memorizing the latest trends, and Eloise and Fay-
She glanced over at the last two. Eloise's face had gone quite stiff, and Fay was nearly hiding behind her, an expression of dull terror in her eyes.
Hermione had noticed it, too, and had straightened up, three or four books balanced on her hip. "Is there a problem?" she inquired coolly.
"No, not at all," Eloise sniffed, in that way that Lavender had so often sniffed herself. It was a woman's way of insinuating that she meant the exact opposite of what she'd just said.
Hermione raised an eyebrow and set down her books on the nightstand. "I thought we discussed this last night."
"You two discussed it," Eloise said coldly. "We didn't say anything."
Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously. "And we took your silence for agreement."
"Well, then you jumped to the wrong conclusion, didn't you?" retorted Eloise spitefully.
Parvati was glancing between the two nervously. Lavender felt sick. She'd grown up with Eloise, shared a dormitory with her for seven years. Sure, they'd never been best friends, but they'd never openly disliked each other, either.
"Well, don't let me hold you back," Hermione challenged. "Clearly you've got something to say; don't beat around the bush."
"Alright then!" Eloise threw her bag down on the ground. "I always knew you had weird little soft spot for house elves and the like, Granger, but I thought the girl genius would be smart enough to realize that even pity has its limit! It's bad enough McGonagall hired one of them as a professor, but this, this is crossing the line!" She flung a pointed finger like a judge in Lavender's direction. "Maybe you're going to get all friendly with the monster in the next bed, but I for one have a little concern about sharing a room with a werewolf!"
Her words seemed to ring in the air, bouncing off the walls. Lavender winced. Well, she couldn't blame Eloise; she probably would have felt the same way, were things the other way around…
Apparently Hermione felt differently. "Oh, is that all! Well in case it slipped your vapid little mind, Eloise, that werewolf just so happens to be a war hero!"
"I don't care if it's the bloody Minister of Magic; I don't want it in my room!"
"'It? It? She's not an it, you twit, she's our friend!" Hermione had gone red with fury. "Who was it that fixed your makeup for the Yule Ball? Who was it that gave you her best hanky when you broke up with Terry Boot?"
"That thing isn't Lavender anymore!"
"And who was it, Eloise," the witch continued as if she hadn't heard, "that stayed behind to fight while you went scampering off to safety? The only reason she was turned was because she was brave enough to take on Fenrir Greyback himself, and survived to tell the tale!"
"Maybe it would have been better if she hadn't," said Eloise nastily.
Hermione let out a gasp of anger; Partvati leapt to her feet. Lavender had closed her eyes at that statement, tears burning behind the lids, and for that reason she heard rather then saw the sharp crack as Parvati Patil crossed the room in two strides and slapped Eloise Midgen across the face.
She opened her eyes, startled, just in time to see the girl stumble back in shock. "Why you-!"
"Don't you ever talk about her like that!" Parvati cried furiously. "Don't you dare, Eloise Midgen, or- or next time, I'll curse you!"
Eloise gaped, and then turned to Hermione. "You're Head Girl! Aren't you going to do something about that?"
"Maybe," she replied indifferently. "Although I rather wish I'd done it first."
Eloise glared, seething. "I am not sharing a room with that thing. Either she goes, or I go."
"She doesn't have to leave. She's a student just like the rest of us," said Hermione pitilessly. "And if you have a problem sleeping here, by all means, take a couch in the common room."
Eloise scoffed, and then looked over to Parvati, who had crossed her arms in the same determined fashion. Lavender sat there uncomfortably, as if not quite certain whether she ought to speak up for herself. Eloise closed her mouth and lifted her nose.
"Fine. Come on, Fay."
The brunette stammered out something incomprehensible, but shut up at her friend's look and followed her out of the room. The door slammed behind them.
The pair turned to look at Lavender, who seemed tongue-tied. At last, she managed, "…You didn't have to-"
"Yes, we did," Hermione cut in sharply. "There's no rule in the book that says werewolves aren't welcome here; if they don't like it, they should cope, not you." She glanced over to Parvati and added ruefully, "I'm afraid I do have to punish you for that somehow, you know; if she goes to McGonagall I need some proof that I tried to handle the situation."
"It was worth it," said Parvati viciously. "Not share a room with Lavender! Ooh, that absolute cow! I'd rather not share a room with her!"
Hermione nodded. "Let's see… I think doing lines would be sufficient." Adopting a very teacher-ish voice, she instructed, "Parvati Patil, I want you to write, I will not smack stupid little twits, not even if they really deserve it, ten times, and do try to do it neatly."
Parvati snorted. "Gladly." She fetched a quill and scrap of parchment from her bag, and set to writing her 'lines' with such savagery that Lavender thought she might poke through the paper.
The werewolf glanced to Hermione shyly. "Thank you. I know I didn't deserve that- especially not after everything with Ron-"
"Water under the bridge," said Hermione dismissively. "Besides, someone needed to set her straight."
"And you… you really don't mind? Sharing a dormitory, I mean. For all you know, I could be dangerous…"
Hermione snorted. "Lavender. I once listened to you ramble on for half an hour about hair bows. Hair bows. You'll pardon me if I'm not trembling at the sight of you."
Lavender giggled. "Alright. Well… thanks again."
"Don't worry about it. Now, about the history homework…"
As the girl genius began to ramble on a bit herself about the elven wars of 1436, Lavender couldn't help but smile. Well, the day hadn't been a complete bust: Eloise and Fay were a loss, it was true, but she still had a few friends, people who would stand by her through thick and thin and even lycanthropy.
In the end, she thought pleasantly as she began copying Hermione's notes, maybe that was the point of friendship, anyhow.
"Remus. Remus, love, you need to wake up…"
He groaned and muttered something indistinct. A hand shook him gently by the shoulder, and the voice said again, "Come on, Remus; I don't want to have to levitate you back to the apartment…"
Confused, he opened his eyes. Dora was looking down at him with a small, almost pitying smirk, a happily cooing Teddy balanced on her hip. His eyes drifted lazily to the window. It was dark outside, and a waning gibbous moon was shining through the glass.
A thrill of terror shot through him, and he leapt to his feet, much to the surprise of his wife and son. "Merlin's beard! What time is it?"
"Quarter past seven."
"Quarter past- oh, Merlin! I've missed all my classes!"
"Nonsense; I took them for you," Dora replied calmly.
"You took-" He shook his head, disoriented. "But how-"
"Madame Pomfrey took one look at you and said what you needed was a good rest," Dora said with a firm nod. "So I popped on down here with Teddy and read your lecture notes for the class." At his scandalized expression, she scoffed. "Oh come on, Remus, it was just redcaps and pixies! You can do the practical bits with them next lesson."
"That's not the point," he moaned. "That's two days of classes I've missed now!"
"You only missed the second half of the day," she replied primly. He shot her a look, and she raised an eyebrow. "Well, now we've learned our lesson about pulling an all-nighter just two days after a transformation instead of letting me take care of Teddy, haven't we?"
He glowered.
"Haven't we?"
Remus sighed and lowered his head. "Yes, dear."
"Good man." She patted his cheek with her free hand. "Come back with me; I've made you soup."
He perked up a bit at that. "Beef and potatoes?"
"Of course." As they walked down the stairs into his classroom, she added conversationally, "You know, one of these days I'm going to work that 'noble pratt' instinct out of you."
"Doubtful. I'm a Gryffindor, born and raised."
"Mm. And I'm a Hufflepuff, meaning that I don't give up easily." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and added, "But don't worry: you're my noble pratt."
"Mm. I think maybe I can live with that."
She chuckled and switched Teddy to her other hip. "By the way, McGonagall mentioned that Brown girl came in today. How did it go?"
Remus sighed and rubbed his head. "Well enough. I just wish I knew what else I could do to help her." At his wife's confused look, he clarified, "I hardly remember a time before I was turned, Dora; I grew up with this, learned to deal with it before I even understood what prejudice meant. That girl… I can't imagine having to accept this after years and years of being ordinary, of being accepted and welcomed by the world without a second thought. I have no idea what I should even say to her."
"Well, if I know you," the auror said gently, "when the time comes, you'll figure it out."
Lupin managed a wry smile. "Thank you for your vote of confidence."
Dora laughed and tugged at the sleeve of his jumper, nearly pulling him down the hall. "Come on; I don't want my soup to cool. Mama's big puppy needs his dinner."
"I am not your puppy."
"Then why do you wag your tail when I scratch your ears?"
He choked, mortified. "You swore you'd never mention that again!" She laughed and tweaked his ear, before taking off down the hall with Teddy in tow, leaving Remus to chase after. "Dora!"
A/N: Meh, not one of my favorite chapters. Still, how did I do writing Lavender? Honestly, she was unexpectedly difficult to pull off: writing tragedy on someone so, well, un-tragic is a hassle and a half! Please review!