Bitten
Even though I know that it won't make any difference, I still try to wake my younger self whenever I'm in The Pensieve. Even though no one can hear or see me, I always try to rouse little Remus by shaking him by the shoulders or yelling into his ear to get up, call our Mom or Dad so they can summon aid in the form of angry villagers bearing pitchforks or Aurors. But my hands simply move through any object I touch as though it were made of mist, and I might as well be whispering for all the impact it leaves. The best I can do is embrace myself, whisper into my ear to be brave, and stand back to watch the show.
Remus stirs in his rest, murmuring something inaudible. This is the last time he'll sleep well for a while. Finally, he admits to himself that he's in for a restless night and rises, getting a glass of water for himself, seeing his Mother in a similar state of restlessness, preparing herself some tea to lull herself to sleep. The day is March 18th, 1960 according to the calendar on his parent's refrigerator. They chat for a bit, before she carries him up to his bed and tucks him in tightly.
He asks if our Father is doing any better. The outburst five days ago is still weighing on his mind. My Mother pauses and responds that he is better than before, that he feels so bad about losing his cool he has gone out of his way to be nicer to people at work and at home. She then reminds Remus that everyone, no matter how good they are, is capable of making mistakes. It is what you do after a mistake is made that really determines who a person is, after all. He asks whether there are any monsters in the closet (purely to humor her, of cours), she says they don't live in this house anymore because they couldn't afford the rent.
Remus mentions that he loves his parents, and she concurs in interest. They embrace, the full moon casting a shiny light through his neat bedroom. My Mother leaves Remus' room yawning hugely, stopping only to shut the door and send an adoring smile back at her boy. He falls asleep at last, reassured at last. Darkness surrounds my view as my younger self shuts his eyes. He is content.
It doesn't last.
All of the sudden light surrounds the Pensieve once more as my younger self's eyes are shocked open by the sensation shooting straight from his leg. A tall, hairy, muscular figure is standing over Remus, biting his left leg through his pyjamas. The young boy screams bloody murder and scrambles to pull his leg out from The Monster's jaws, only succeeding in tearing more flesh away from his leg.
In the twelve seconds since he first heard his son scream, my Father is already there, wand at the ready.
"STUPEFY!"
The Monster is sent rocketing, towing Remus' leg along with it in his jaws. They crash against the wall, and Remus' leg is twisted at a funny angle.
*CRACK*
Stunning spells aren't enough to down a Werewolf. The Monster finally lets go of Remus' leg and is up at once, advancing on Father. It is then I get a good look at what my attacker looks like. Huge and muscular, bone-white fur with razor-sharp teeth protruding from a inverted snout, cruel, bloodshot black eyes, hunched over with powerful hind legs, with copious amounts of drool tinged with blood pouring out of his jowls. The Monster is everything Father said he would be, and so much more.
Charging through Father's flurry of spells, The Monster passes through my ghostly form to pin Father against the wall, knocking him silly. Gritting my teeth against the pain, and ignoring every impulse telling him to run, my younger doppelganger manages to hobble over to a glass ball on my windowsill and hurl it at The Monster, causing it to shatter against the back of his skull at the impact. Immediately The Monster turns around, dropping my Father as he does, snarling and spitting.
Luckily, I had the good sense to close my eyes against the oncoming blow so my sight remained intact, but I am still sent to the ground by The Monster's backhand, now sporting three scars on my face to match my leg's. Watching from the future, I now see my Father slumped on the ground trying to regain his breath and the blood trailing from The Monster's nails at the exact point they came into contact with my flesh.
For one single, terrifying moment I am eye-to-eye with The Monster as he stands between my Father and my younger form. Now he is even more scary that he is hurt, now has people that he actively wishes harm upon. In that moment, he lets out a horrifying shriek of fury that drowns out any sound in the room. In that moment, I see the horrible creature everyone must see when they discover what I am, what happens when I lose control.
"OH, NO YOU DON'T!"
And then I see the ultimate proof that we Wizards are far too hard on Muggles for old rivalries: my sweet old Mother, who didn't have a drop of Magical Blood in her veins whatsoever, standing up to one of the most fearsome creatures in all of The Wizarding World, carrying a double-barrelled shotgun.
"NOT-"
*T'CHIK-CLACK*
*BOOM!"
"-MY-"
*T'CHIK-CLACK*
*BOOM!"
"FAMILY!"
The Monster's kneecaps were the first to go, then his right shoulder, and then part of his ribcage. It howled in pain, claws tearing into the floorboards. Should have known better than to pick a fight with Hope Lupin, the best shot in town. My Father finally comes to, motions for my Mother to drag my younger self out of the way, and thrusts his wand straight at The Monster, bellowing the most powerful spell in his arsenal straight at The Monster.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
The Monster is blasted out of the house taking my windowsill with it, via the spectre of a snarling black panther (Or in this case would it be a silver panther? Yeesh, James was right, there is such a thing as being TOO specific) hitting it in the chest. In what appears to be a reflection in the Corporeal Patronus I see the silhouette of my Mother in her wedding gown, leaning in for a kiss.
After propping me against the wall, my Mother rushes to my Father's side, reloading her shotgun and firing along with him at the whimpering fiend into the night before three figures grab him and disappear into the night. Cursing their luck, Father rushes off to the fireplace and my Mother lifts my younger self up, trying to soothe me through my shrieking as I feel the wounds that were inflicted on me burn maddeningly.
The fireplace is green now thanks to Floo Powder, Father pockets some Potion ingredients, grabs my Mother by the arm and hurriedly proclaims;
"St. Mungo's Hospital For Magical Maladies and Injuries, and step on it!"
Through The Pensieve, I am suddenly stretched along with my family in the emerald blaze into the sterile white, brilliantly lit waiting Reception Room next to a series of fireplaces. Taking a moment to recover from my sudden change of venue, My Father and Mother are almost immediately assisted by a kind-looking Healer, and I am delivered to the operating room. Struggling against the restraints, my younger self is still sobbing until the Healer forces a Sleeping Draught down my throat and everything darkens again.
When my younger self awakes again, I dimly open my eyes acknowledge The Healer, (whose nametag says is named Poppy Pomfrey) sitting my parents down and murmuring in hushed tones to my parents so as not to disturb me or let anyone else in the ward hear her.
"We managed to seal his wounds with silver and aconite just in time. However… it wasn't enough, there's no cure for what he has. I'm afraid your son has been infected with Lycanthropy. I'm so sorry."
It is then my older self is sent back through The Pensieve to the present as if being lifted by a puppetmaster, seeing my Father blanche and grip his chair as though hanging for dear life then my Mother covering her hands in front of her mouth. Albus Dumbledore is usually in his study reading a book or pacing when I arise from the waters.
"Ah, there you are. Find anything illuminating in the past, Remus?" He'll ask, unperturbed by the grown man arising from his basin.
"Very little I haven't had nightmares about before, or learned later from my parents," I'll reply. "But thanks for the use of The Pensieve anyway. Have a lot on my mind, these days."
"It is no problem, one often has to look behind oneself to know where they are going, after all. Give my best to Kingsley next time you see him, will you?"
"You bet, Albus. Good night."