Chapter Thirteen: Enrichment

"So I've been thinking," I said. "I think what you need is enrichment."

I was sitting in Remus' bedroom, in a char beside the bed. He was lying in bed, looking deathly pale, his hair matted and tangled, with skull-like dark circles under his eyes, his cheeks covered in stubble. But it was his face, and not a wolf's face.

Neither of us had gotten much sleep the night before. Once, I woke to him howling, running circles around the room in anguish, jumping at the walls and scratching the floor. I had scooted away a bit and watched, helpless. After a while he had quieted down again and we had both gone back to sleep. Sometime in the early hours of the morning, I had woken and found that he had turned back into a human again, in the tattered remains of his clothing, still curled up on the floor on the other side of the glass. I helped him back up the stairs and into bed. Then I went back to my room to crash for a few hours, and then got up to teach a somewhat incoherent lesson on Jane Eyre.

McGonagall had appeared at the end of my last class with another tray. "Make sure he eats," she said. "He won't recover as fast if he doesn't."

At first, Remus hadn't touched the food. Then, a thought struck me. Back when my dog was still alive, she didn't like to eat without her pack (me and my family). So, I took a pumpkin pasty off the elaborate silver bed tray and began eating it.

Remus's eyes followed me. "Are you stealing my lunch?" His voice was hoarse, as it might be after howling for a good portion of the night.

"I think it's more like dinner," I said, with a mouthful of pasty. It was only 4pm or so, but it was already getting dark outside.

Sure enough, he took a sandwich from the tray and began munching it. "Enrichment?"

"Yeah. You know, like room to run around in and things to do. Having to go look for food and stuff. Maybe some music. I think if you were treated like, you know, a normal wolf, it might alleviate some of the…symptoms."

"You may be right," he said thoughtfully.

"Really, though, you weren't that bad. Not nearly as bad as I'd expected."

He looked a little surprised, but all he said was, "That's because of the potion."

"Nothing wrong with that. They make potions for a reason." I took another pasty. "I think the Room of Requirement might help. Also Artemis."

"Artemis?"

"She was my roommate in college. She runs a wolf sanctuary in the Cairngorms now. I'll ask her about it. As a hypothetical situation, of course," I added, with a grin.

"Of course," he said quietly.

"Might not be a bad idea for us to go and see her, actually," I said. "I mean, I'm sure we'd be breaking a bunch of rules and all that, but I think she's the kind of person who'd be cool with it."

He raised an eyebrow. "She must be quite the person."

"Oh, she is," I said. "I was always a little envious of her. She never seemed to be afraid of anything, or anybody."

"You know, I thought you were like that, when I first met you," he said.

"Really?" I said, squirming uncomfortably. "I'm really—not."

'Yes," he said. "But then I realized that you were afraid. You just didn't let it stop you. You've got tremendous courage."

"Thanks," I said, feeling both flattered and horrifically, well, seen. The soft look in his face filled me with so much joy that it hurt. "It's easier to be brave when you're around."

He made an effort to sit up straighter. "I was dreading having you watch. I wish no one could see it, least of all you. But once you were there—it was easier."

"Felt like I kind of made things more difficult," I said, remembering my outburst about the awful prison they'd been hiding him in.

"No," he said. "Well, yes, it was difficult, at first. But I felt…more human than I have in a long time."

Oh. Wow. Ok. The delicious weight of the words hit me like a ton of bricks. I couldn't really move or speak. When I could finally speak again, I said, "me too." And it was true. As nightmarish and messy as everything had been, every minute had been precious with the joy of being there for him, the joy of being able to love, the joy of him loving me back.

We ate in silence for a bit. Curious, I glanced around at his room. It was cozier than the office—less spooky things in jars, more books and candles. It was laid out in much the same way as mine—big four-poster bed, fireplace, desk, small eating table, bathroom, bookcase, wardrobe, but everything was done up in deep reds and dark browns. All of the furnishings were the school's, of course, but a faded Gryffindor banner hung over the table, and Remus' broomstick was propped in one corner. A battered photo album lay open on the dining table, along with a mangled-looking bit of parchment. I was itching to bring the photo album over and look through it, but it felt like a bridge too far, under the circumstances. It was awkward enough, being in his room for the first time, with the laundry and teacups scattered about, and poor Remus just there in his pajamas eating breakfast/dinner, looking like death.

"I got that out to show Harry," he said, indicating the album. "Partly to make up for confiscating the map." He gave an exasperated sigh. "Nearly got himself killed with that bloody map."

"That sounds like Harry, all right." I squinted at the parchment across the room. "It doesn't look like a map."

Moving aside the tray, he picked up his wand. "Accio map," he said, pointing it at the parchment. The map zoomed across the room and into his waiting hand.

He handed it to me.

I unfolded the parchment, which turned out to be surprisingly extensive, but also blank. I turned it over to double check, but it was blank on the other side too. "Still not much of a map," I said.

He chuckled. "Here, hold it out."

He waved the wand at the map. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

I gave a little gasp of astonishment as writing began to appear on the map. The Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs are proud to present The Marauder's Map. Alongside the words, the map began to appear on the paper. "It's Hogwarts," I said, surprised.

"Yes," he said.

Everything was there—the Great Hall, the astronomy tower, the owlery, the classrooms, the quidditch pitch. And it was moving. Hundreds of little names attached to moving footprints criscrossed the page. There was Hagrid, out in the greenhouses with Pomona, and there was Poppy, bustling around the infirmary. "That's us!" I said, glancing at the faculty tower. My own name was inked in an elaborate little banner, hovering beside "Remus Lupin."

"Yes," he said, leaning over to point things out. "It shows everything—all the rooms, the grounds, everybody in the castle. And all the secret passages"

"That's crazy," I said. "Who makes these things?"

He grinned. "I made it. I'm Moony."

"Wait," I said, snatching at something in the back of my mind. "That was what your friends called you." It took a minute for me to do the math. "They knew you were a werewolf? That's why they called you Moony?"

"Yes," he said.

"That's an…interesting choice for a nickname," I said, not sure whether to laugh or cry.

He chuckled. "I guess it was a bit of an inside joke."

"Well, there's no accounting for taste. So who are these other people? Or are those all your nicknames?"

He straightened up. "Well, you see—" he paused, looked at me, and said, "No one knows about this."

I nodded. "I won't tell anyone."

"Well, when they found out about me being a werewolf, they decided they would learn how to transform into animals too, to keep me company. You can become what's called an animagus, where you can transform into an animal and back again at will."

"Like McGonagall."

"Yes. It's very complicated and dangerous, and you're supposed to register with the government. They didn't."

"You know, good for them," I said.

"No, it was terribly irresponsible," he said. "We're lucky no one got hurt. You see, we would roam about the grounds and the forbidden forest during the full moon. James was a stag, and Sirius was a dog, so they could keep me in line. When they were with me, I kept my mind, more or less. But it certainly wasn't safe. And then Peter was our lookout. He was a rat, so he could get into places we couldn't."

"So he was Wormtail," I said, looking at the map.

"Yes."

"And James was Prongs, because of the antlers. And Sirius was Padfoot." It seemed like such a friendly name for someone who was currently planning to murder a child.

Remus nodded. "I never thought I'd see this map again. Filch confiscated it during our last year. But I caught Harry using it to sneak out to Honeydukes. Or to sneak back in, rather." He sighed. "Of all the idiotic things to do. He could have been killed!"

"I mean, I can't say I'm surprised," I said, remembering the way he'd jumped headlong into battle with that giant-ass snake last year. "He doesn't exactly have a strong sense of self preservation. Oh look, there he is, in the infirmary again." I pointed to the map. Sure enough, there was a little scroll marked "Harry Potter" in the infirmary surrounded by a crowd of other students.

"Hell," said Remus. He started to get up, but then slumped back down helplessly. "It's no good," he groaned. "I won't make it out the door, let alone to the infirmary."

"Hang on," I said, springing up. "I'll go see what's happened."

I didn't have to go far, because I ran into McGonagall on the way. Relieved, I hurried back with the news.

"He's okay," I said breathlessly. "He fell off his broomstick, but Dumbledore caught him. Got a concussion, but he'll be all right. McGonagall said he was more upset about losing the match than anything else."

"Typical Gryffindor," he said, visibly relieved. Then his brow wrinkled. "How did he fall?"

"The dementors attacked him," I said. "Dumbledore's furious, apparently."

He groaned. "Bloody hell. Did Madam Pomfrey—what am I saying, of course she did." He slumped back against the bed. "I've got to teach him how to ward them off."

My old outrage on the subject returned in full force. "He's a child. He shouldn't have to ward them off! They shouldn't be allowed anywhere near here!"

"I know," he said, wearily. "Maybe this will make the ministry call them off, but I doubt it."

"It's not like they did anything to stop Black from getting into the castle," I said. "Besides, no one's heard anything of him in months."

"I was worried about this," he said, settling back onto the bed. "They seem to be targeting Harry specifically."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure," he said. "He's more vulnerable than the others."

"Oh." The few times I had crossed paths with the Potter kid were deeply chaotic. He wasn't in any of my classes, and didn't have the best reputation as a student. But if he was vulnerable to the Dementors, he must have suffered in a way that his classmates had not. Ways that kids shouldn't have to suffer.

"I'm the closest thing to family he has left," he said, his voice ragged with more than weariness. "Aside from his aunt and uncle. But they don't count for much, from what I've heard." He was silent for a moment. "When it happened, when James and Lily died, and I found out what happened, I went to Dumbledore, and I begged him to let me take Harry in. But he wouldn't let me. And he was right to do so. I didn't have any means to support him, and it was too dangerous. I couldn't keep a child safe from myself, let alone from Voldemort."

I reached out and took his hand. And it was a relief to be able to do that, even if everything was terrible, even if you couldn't fix anything.

He looked thoughtfully at the album on the table. "I'm not sure if I should show the pictures to Harry. It might make him dwell more in the past, make him more vulnerable. But then again it might help give him a clearer picture of them, since we tend to dwell on the unknown."

"Would you mind…showing me?" I asked. "I've heard so much about them from you, and everybody."

"Of course," he said.

I retrieved the album from the table. It was large, thick, and heavy, so stuffed full of photos that the spine was beginning to crack.

I scooted my chair closer and balanced it on my lap, tilting it up at an angle so that Remus could see. "I forgot that the pictures move."

Remus shifted over so that he could get a better look.

The first picture was of everyone clustered around at a pub, jostling and shoving and leaning on each other.

There was a man who looked like an older version of Harry. "Is that James?"

"Yes," he said. "And that's Lily, beside him." It was strange, finally seeing pictures of people I'd heard about for so long. She looked a bit like Harry, too—really it was the other way around, I suppose. But there was a determined look on her face that I remembered seeing on Harry's the day he'd stood up to Snape.

"My god," I said. "They're so young."

Beside them was a handsome man with long black hair. He ruffled James's already messy hair affectionately.

"That's Sirius," said Remus quietly.

"That's Sirius?" I stared at the picture in shock. It didn't look anything like the terrifying "wanted" posters tacked up in Hogsmeade and plastered in the Daily Prophet—a skeletal, haunted face, teeth bared in rage. "Wow, he did not age well at all."

It was hard to believe—no, it was impossible to believe, looking at him, that he could have betrayed his friends and murdered people. His face was filled with so much love.

"What happened?" I said, softly to myself.

"I wish I knew," he said.

A flicker of movement caught my eye, and I realized there was another person in the photo—a scrawny boy with a rat-like moustache, leaning on Sirius' shoulder. Why did British men have that tendency to look so ratty? Was it the lack of sun, or the dental care? Or maybe just their inability to grow moustaches?

"That's Peter," he said.

"You haven't mentioned him as much," I said.

"No," he said. "He was a bit younger than us. He admired James and Sirius and began tagging along after us. They both, well, fully believed themselves worthy of admiration." He smiled wryly.

"I can believe it," I said, looking down at the photo beside it, in which James and Sirius were striking dramatic poses.

"He was closer to them than he was to me," he said. "I'm not sure how much he really liked me, although he was happy enough to go along with the animagus plan and follow us on all our adventures."

"What happened to him?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"He was killed," he said. "They say he went to confront Sirius after he found out he'd betrayed James and Lily. And Sirius killed him."

He stared down at the pictures. "It doesn't make sense," he said, rubbing his hand over his mouth. "The Potters took Sirius in when his own family cast him out. He was James' brother. Everyone thought he had a dark streak in him, because he was a Black. And he was vindictive. I could believe his killing Peter. But not James. Not in that horrible, cowardly, coldblooded way. And I don't understand why he's come back."

"Do you think there's some other reason?" I said.

He leaned back against the pillow, looking about a thousand years old. "I don't know. It's just denial, probably. Wishful thinking. Even after all these years I can't quite accept it."

"You've had to accept so much," I said. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you." He stared listlessly at the bedroom, not really seeing anything. After a while, he said, "I think my parents are on the next page over."

I turned the page. His parents looked weary and kind, much like Remus. As the afternoon turned into evening, he told me more about growing up deep in the country, how his parents had done their best to be company for him, how he had roamed through the forest and met strange creatures there, and read everything he could get his hands on, and had adventures that way.

"Sorry," he said. "This has all been a bit one-sided. Do you have pictures of your family? I mean, I imagine it's rather difficult to carry around a photo album without magic, but you seem like the kind of person who would."

I opened my mouth, and then shut it again, because I did in fact have a massive photo album of real printed photos that I took in my luggage in this the year of our Lord 20—. "How dare you," I said.

He just grinned.

"I'll go and get it."

So the evening passed with me showing him pictures of my sunny, swampy home, including the picture of me and my siblings posing with the giant python we shot and won money for. And of us de-spining and cooking a lionfish. And rescuing our dog from the jaws of an alligator.

"Wow," he said. "It's like Gilderoy Lockhart, except that you actually did all this stuff."

"Unmagical Me," I said. "It's the name of my blog."

He blinked in surprise. "How long have you had a blog?"

"About a year now. It's really taking off. I didn't think people still read blogs, but the wizarding internet is a couple of years behind."

"As with most things," he said drily. "Sounds like I've got some reading to do."

"Oh boy," I said, wondering what he would think about my rambling thoughts on the wizarding world.

Later that night, I sent the following email:

Dear Artemis,

Hypothetically, if you had a boyfriend who was a werewolf, how would you go about caring for him? Like if he was just a slightly larger than normal and more aggressive wolf. This is all purely hypothetical, of course. Definitely for writing purposes. Say hi to all the wolves for me.

Love,

Ophelia

I received her reply later the next day:

Dear Ophelia,

Well, hypothetically, if they're like normal wolves, they would need lots of space and quiet. Like at least an acre to themselves. Preferably more. No road noise. And some serious fencing. Like a double fence. (here's a link to some specifics). And it needs to have good drainage, and a sturdy shelter. They chew on everything. They like to climb on top of stuff, like cats. Wolves eat raw meat (no dog food). They also like fruit. Lots of trees and water, as well—a big trough to drink out of.

And don't ever take anything out of their mouth. It's theirs now. Also, they basically greet you by smashing their mouth against yours. You have to let them do this because its how they communicate. The best way to defuse aggression/challenges to dominance is through acting like you're playing with them—essentially, distract them long enough that they forget about it. They're social animals, so if you can get a sturdy dog (would strongly advise against a second werewolf) to be its companion, that would be ideal. Also, they would need lots of attention from humans. Obviously, this is the short version. It's a lot more complicated than that in practice.

If you've found an actual wolf, for the love of all that's holy call me ASAP and we'll come get him.

(if you have somehow found a werewolf in your backyard, you better let me come have a look at it. I'll never forgive you if you don't.)

Love from me and the wolves,

Artemis

I told Remus about it on the way to the room of requirement a few days later. "So yeah that's the gist of it. I don't know how much the room can do, but anything has to be an improvement over that broom closet."

"That is certainly true," he said. He looked much more alive than he had a few days ago. "Do you think we should go talk to her?"

"I think so, yeah," I said. "I mean, I've never told any of my—my other friends about any of this, because of the whole statute of secrecy thing and all that. So I've no idea how she'll react. Maybe we should go visit her before the full moon and see how that goes."

"It would be safer," he agreed. "But will she believe it?"

"As crazy as it sounds, I think she might. She's a lot less skeptical than I am."

We came to the place where the room of requirement normally materialized. "Okay, so we need to keep the stuff she said in mind," I said. "It's nice of the room to work for non-magic people. I found it the other day and it was a fully functional Blockbuster."

"A what?"

"You know—oh, never mind. I'll tell you later so we don't confuse it."

"Okay."

We approached the empty wall anxiously. Hi, Room. We need a safe place where a werewolf can run free, I thought. With water and rocks and trees and grass. Somewhere nice. Somewhere good.

The thick doors groaningly emerged from the wall.

"Well, let's see if it worked," I said, glancing at Remus.

He took hold of one of the massive door handles, and hauled the heavy door open. "After you."

I stopped on the threshold. "Oh wow. You gotta see this."

Inside the room of requirement was a forest. It spread out as far as the eye could see. A good-sized stream flowed straight through the center of it and then curved to the right, out of sight. A thick, soft carpet of moss and green grass was underfoot. To the right, there was a rocky outcrop, with a good-sized cave to hide in. A breeze gently stirred the branches of the trees. If you looked up, you could see, very high above, the roof of the room, but it was enchanted, like the ceiling in the Great Hall, so that you could see the sky between the tops of the columns that jutted out occasionally from the trees, as if the room had grown to gigantic size to accommodate the forest.

I looked over at Remus to see what he thought. He stood beside me with an awestruck expression on his face. "You've really outdone yourself, Ophelia."

"What do you mean?"

"I could never have imagined something like this. I'm not even sure…I knew that I needed it."

I shrugged awkwardly. "Thanks." And then a worrisome thought struck me. "Remus," I said. "Please don't tell me you thought you deserved to be locked up in that—that cell."

"No," he said. "At least, not exactly. But I'm not sure I could see myself beyond it."

The breeze blew through his hair and through mine.

"I wish I was magic," I said, throwing out my hands in a helpless gesture. "I wish I could turn into an animal, like your friends, so you wouldn't have to be alone." It was the one wish that had been growing on me over the past few days, the one wish I had tried desperately to keep to myself.

He looked at me steadily. "You don't have to be a wizard for that." He moved closer to me. "Look at this place." He gestured to the surrounding forest. "All this exists because you saw it. Because you needed it. I won't be alone here. And even without it—even if you're not by my side, you're always with me." Half-unconsciously, he laid his hand to his heart.

Unconsciously, I mirrored the gesture, my hand to my heart.

His hands fell to his sides. "I love you," he said simply. There was no demand for reciprocation in the words. Just the truth of it.

I head the catch in my breath. I was quiet, trying to hold onto this moment. My heart was too full to speak. "Well, good," I said finally, closing the distance between us. 'Because I love you.'

He exhaled softly. His eyes were strangely bright. I reached up and stroked his hair. Then a few tears escaped, trickling down his scarred cheeks. "Hey," I said softly, "It's okay."

I put my hand to his cheek, lightly tracing the line of a scar with my thumb, and felt tears welling up in my own eyes too.