NOTE

My explanation for this chapter: the Ministry is cruel, and so am I.

18. Letter

We arrived at Hogwarts in the middle of the morning. We'd gone by floo, and walked from Hogsmeade through a cold rain, nibbling on the mince pies Molly had sent us away with. The castle was quiet. Remus wanted a bath, and I stayed out in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, coaxing a fire to life. I was sitting there alone, warming myself, when Snape entered.

He had a hard look on his face, that same dour expression he used to always wear when teaching. His cape whispered around his boots as he strode through the door. With both hands he carried a thinly smoking goblet. I stood to receive him.

I couldn't pretend that our last interaction hadn't left me wary of him. His unkind words impudent girl echoed in my mind, and I would not soon forget the way he'd threatened me with his body. Knowing that he knew what had happened to me from our proximity in the hospital tent after the war certainly made his behaviour feel like a betrayal. But it wouldn't do to avoid him, or to hold a grudge. We would be seeing much of each other. Some kind of reconciliation was in order. Or, at least, an effort towards civility. I felt the threat of trembling as he approached, but I stood firm. I wanted to prove that I was strong.

"Where is he?" Snape said, his eyes two dark walls.

"Unavailable at the moment," I said. In the back of my mind I scolded myself for the shortness of my tone. I forced myself to relax, to be patient. Perhaps he was guilty about what had happened between us, but was unable to show it. A weak smile struggled to surface on my face. "I'll keep it for him."

I approached Snape cautiously, and took the goblet from his hands, both of us being careful not to let it fall. I set it on the nearest desk, and caught Snape glaring at the ring on my finger.

It was important for me that I learned what he had meant when he'd talked about charity last time. He'd said it then with such cruelty, but if he didn't care a bit about Remus's wellbeing, then why would he squander precious time and effort making the potion?

"I found the books you left last time," I told him. "Thank you for them."

He gave a silent nod. I hoped he would say something, anything at all, but it didn't seem likely.

Just as the silence became tense, I heard footsteps behind me, and Remus came down the stairs, still drying his hair. "Ah, Severus. Lovely," he said, when he saw the potion.

"Ensure you eat before," Snape said, and I could tell it was an old worn-out reminder.

"Thank you," Remus said.

Snape didn't look at me again before he turned and walked out of the room. I looked after him, full of confusion.

"Did he seem off to you?" Remus asked.

"Not really," I said, just barely hiding my spite. "Seems his same old self to me."

Remus gave me an admonishing look, and I hid my face, looking out the window. He waited by the fire, having another mince pie. Once it had settled he forced himself over to the desk where the potion waited. "Bottoms up," he said to himself with a grimace, and drained the goblet in a series of determined gulps.

The owls arrived while we were all at dinner. They landed with dignity, and were impeccably clean. Ministry owls. There was one for Luna and Neville, one for Snape, another for Seaums, and one for Remus and me.

It was addressed to both of us. Remus shrugged his shoulders, so I unsealed the letter and read it aloud.

"Dear Mr. and Mrs. Lupin,

It has come to our attention that the frequency of intercourse among married couples is not sufficient to fulfil the procreation clause of the recent Marriage Law."

I drew back from the parchment in shock. "How do they even know that?" I said, disgusted.

"They have their ways," Remus said, a look of anxiety–but not surprise–in his eyes. "Keep reading."

"In light of this, the law will now require couples to provide a record of their copulation. Intercourse must take place at least once a month, and the mandatory occurrence must fall within the three-day window of the woman's highest fertility. Witches must visit a mediwizard or -witch to calculate this window according to their cycle and report it to the Ministry via the form enclosed herein. In addition, witches must submit to an examination and provide a signed letter, to ensure that their monthly duty is carried out. Couples will be held to these requirements from this date forward. Failure to comply will result in disciplinary measures."

My jaw went limp. I simply couldn't believe how intrusive it all was. I felt rather dehumanised.

I looked around at the others who had also received letters. Snape had stood up and left, probably to write to Frederica and make arrangements. Poor Seamus looked quite put out–I didn't know who his wife was, but it didn't look as though the monthly meetings appealed to him. Neville and Luna didn't look too bothered.

Remus, however, had gone pale. "We need to speak to Poppy immediately," he said. There was a demanding tone in his voice and I decided to obey without question. He was already on his feet, and I had to hurry to catch up to him as he walked out of the great hall.

We found Poppy in the hospital wing. "I just got one myself," she said, when I'd finished explaining the contents of the letter that Remus was speechlessly worrying in his hands. "The good news is that I'm on their list, so my signature will work just fine for you two. Now, Wilma, I'll just ask you a couple of questions."

I sat on the edge of one of the beds while Remus paced up and down the ward. I didn't see what he was so anxious about. I told Poppy the dates of the start and end of my last menstrual cycle, and there was a minute of silence as Poppy did some calculations. I listened to the scratching of her quill on the parchment. I felt a little nervous myself, but knew it was just Remus's strange behaviour influencing me.

Poppy completed her calculations and looked at the paper with furrowed eyebrows.

"Oh, dear," she said to herself. "Wait, that must be wrong…" But her calculations seemed to be correct, because her expression did not change after she'd checked her work.

"Pomfrey?" Remus said, his voice tense. He had stopped pacing, and stood at the foot of the bed where I sat.

"What?" I said, looking between them. "What is it?"

"Wilma," Poppy said, looking quite unbothered compared to Remus. "Your window is going to fall in the three days before the full moon."

"Alright," I said, looking again at Remus's face, which was full of dread. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing at all, dear," she said. She certainly looked more worried about Remus's reaction than the proximity of my fertility window to the full moon.

"Poppy," Remus said. He had a terrible look on his face, a forced reason, with desperation beneath it. I felt my heart begin to pound as I sensed that, in his view, something was very wrong indeed. "Would you sign a note even if we didn't… in those three days?"

I was shocked that he would ask such a thing of anyone. "I'm sorry," Poppy said. "I can't do that. I could lose my position. Really, Remus, it's nothing to worry about. You're taking your potion?"

"Yes, but it has no effect apart from the transformation itself."

"Remus, what are you talking about?" I demanded.

He looked at me sharply, and opened his mouth as though to speak, but then stormed out of the hospital wing without a word. I pushed down the urge to follow him. "I don't understand," I said to Poppy.

"He loses control of his temper," Poppy sighed, "He's probably afraid he'll lose control of his body too."

I blushed slightly at her forwardness. I didn't say it aloud, but I didn't see the problem with that. I trusted Remus, and even if he was a bit rough I doubted he would really hurt me. He would have to want to, and I knew he didn't want to. But still, his reaction to the news had been unsettling. Perhaps he knew something Poppy and I didn't.

Seeing the doubt in my eyes, Poppy reassured me again that there was nothing wrong with our having intercourse before the moon. "Just come to me after you've done with it, so I can do your examination and write you a note."

I left the hospital wing and made my way back towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. As I walked, I suddenly remembered reading something in one of the prejudiced books I'd found in the library months before. It had been very old, practically falling apart, and had contained a story of a werewolf who had ravaged his wife on the evening of the full moon–and she had "died of her pleasure." I didn't know what that meant, but assumed that the story was bogus anyway, given the other clearly fabricated–at least exaggerated–stories that had been included in the same book, of werewolves who were sexual predators, gangs of werewolves who viciously tracked down and killed or changed young women and girls. The story had probably been written to titillate sadistic readers more than anything. I doubted there was any truth in it at all.

I felt like crying, knowing that the stigma against werewolves had made Remus fear himself this much. He had to know he wasn't capable of such violence–not before his transformation.

He was sitting in the classroom by the fire. The light was gone from the windows, and the fire light flickered across his face, exaggerating his scars.

"I'll send a letter asking for an exception," he said when he saw me step in. "I'm certain they'll grant it, given the circumstances."

"Do you really think it would be that bad?" I said. "If we do it on the first of the three days?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I've never risked it, and I'm not going to now."

"What's stopped you before? What do you think would happen?"

He grimaced, but he knew he had to confess; I wouldn't let him get away with staying silent after the way he'd reacted. He began to rub his hand harshly, which I recognised as one of his nervous tics before the moon. When he spoke it was just above a whisper, his voice full of shame. "I get these thoughts, the week before. Not just sexual. Violent, sometimes. I scare myself. I have dreams, at night and in broad daylight. About hurting people. I think I already am hurting someone, and then I shake myself and I realise I'd just imagined I was doing it. Things I would never do, but I suddenly think I might. It's like the wolf is part of my mind, and I can't get him out. The most terrible thoughts. And when they are sexual…" He shook his head, and covered his eyes with his hand.

I couldn't deny that his words sent a chill to my bones. But I was overcome by an instinct to comfort him. "Remus," I said. It'll be fine–"

But he shifted away when I went to touch his shoulder.

"I won't do it," he said. His eyes were truly frightened. "I won't hurt you."

"But I know, Remus," I insisted. "I know you won't."

He shook his head and looked away from me, staring into the flames. "You don't."

He denied and denied my pleas to make a plan leading up to the three days, adamant that there had to be another way. He wrote to the Ministry requesting an exception, but they would not grant one.

He roughly resisted all of my attempts at intimacy. Where he'd previously been so calm and careful around me, he seemed to allow his temper to run away with him on purpose. It was as though he wanted to prove to me why I should be frightened. It worked, a little, but not enough to make me give up.

On the second day of the week we got into a terrible argument about it, raising our voices at each other. It was so terrible that it left me crying once he'd fled. After that he refused to sleep in the same bed, or even in the same room. I didn't know where he escaped to after the evening meals, but I wouldn't see him again until the following morning.

There were small tasks to be done as the restoration came to an end, and Remus always made sure he was assigned to a task in a different part of the castle than I was. It pained me to be so cut off from him so suddenly, just as we had been growing closer. I knew it was only because of his own fear, but when I was lying in bed alone at night, some part of me believed that it was my fault–that he was afraid of me. It didn't help that whenever we saw each other in passing, Remus looked frightened. As though it would kill me if he breathed the wrong way.

"Talk to me," I would whisper desperately over dinner. "Please." But he wouldn't.

Snape continued to deliver the potion to the classroom every day. I was grateful beyond measure for the potion. I knew it was the only reason Remus had even stayed at the castle. He knew that Snape would never agree to make the potion again if he left in the middle of the week, and the rest of the ingredients went to waste.

On the fourth day, Snape set down the goblet and lingered, looking at me pointedly. All of the antagonism from Remus had put me on edge and I knew my face reflected the emotional damage that the last three days had wrought. No-one but Poppy knew the details of what was going on, but it surely didn't take a divination expert to see there was a problem. Snape's eyes had contained nothing but coldness and indifference since Remus and I had arrived, but today he actually looked a bit concerned. I must have looked worse than I'd realised.

"Are you ill?" he asked.

"No," I said curtly.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, thank you," I lied.

To my relief he pried no further, and left the room.

My cough became worse, and I went to Poppy about it.

"Here for the examination?" she said when I came through the door. It was the first day of the window, and a stab of anger hit me. We could be through with it already. If it really was dangerous, then surely it would be more so later than it was today.

"No," I said, and promptly began to cough again.

"That cough's no good, dear," Poppy said, and patted the nearest bed for me to sit down. She conducted a quick examination, and shook her head. "Your anxiety and the weather are making you ill."

She gave me a vial of a bright yellow potion and I took it without hesitation. I hid the cough desperately whenever I was around Remus. I couldn't afford to give him another reason not to come near me, to see me as vulnerable.

The new year dawned clear, dark and bitter. Tomorrow night would be the full moon, and our last chance to fulfil the orders of the Ministry. I was afraid of what the consequences would be if we failed. They could be dire.

I decided, as I fell into an uneasy sleep, that I simply wouldn't allow us to fail. Remus could avoid me all he wanted, but I knew that if I got close enough, his defences would crumble. I only hoped that nothing bad would happen when they did.

NOTE

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