March 13th, 1971

As always when he woke from a transformation, Remus was lying on his stomach. He assumed that the wolf curled up to sleep when the moon set and counted it as a blessing that he didn't have to experience the pain of morphing back into himself every time. One excruciating change every month was awful enough, two would be unbearable.

Something was different this morning, though. Usually, he woke up to the nauseating stench of blood and agonising pain in various body parts. Today, all he could smell was damp earth and pine trees, and apart from a general ache in his bones and a deep sense of fatigue, he only felt a gentle breeze caressing his naked body. His heart pounded as the realisation hit him. The wolf had escaped.

Grunting with the effort, he rolled over and opened his eyes to the sight of the bright blue sky filtered through the tree canopy. The sun's rays were warm on his skin. Thank Merlin they were in the middle of a heatwave or he'd be freezing.

When he looked around, he recognised his surroundings to an extent. He knew these woods, had spent many long hours in them over the previous few years, but he didn't know where he was within them. One part looked very similar to another, and he had no idea which direction the house lay. His parents would find him, wouldn't they? But no, the woodland was huge, and he wasn't sure if they were even in a fit state to look for him. A shiver went down his spine, and he swallowed hard, pushing the thought away. It was up to him to figure out how to get home.

He listened hard, hoping to hear the trickling sound of the stream that ran near his home. If he found that, he could follow it back, but he heard nothing but birdsong and grasshoppers. His breaths were coming short and fast, and he needed to calm down. Panicking would not help the situation. The woodland lay to the south of his home, so he needed to go north. But how could he work out which way was north? The sun! He looked up at the sky again. The sun sat very high, almost directly above him. Close to noon then, but morning or afternoon? He wasn't sure.

While he waited for the sun to move, he checked himself over—very few injuries, some scratches and bruises, but nothing worse. The wolf must enjoy being outside. Not that he could ever let it happen again. He shuddered. Gods, he hoped his parents were okay. Merlin knows how long it would take to walk back to his house, and he would need his strength if the journey was long, so he lay back down to rest. It wasn't long before he fell asleep.

When he woke for the second time, the sun had moved a little. He couldn't have been asleep for long, but it was enough to work out which direction he should walk. So, he got to his feet and set off towards home. His legs were weak and shaky under his weight, and he needed to take frequent breaks along the way to rest. The sun was hanging low in the sky by the time he glimpsed his house through the trees. He took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for gory scenes of carnage before he approached.

Remus pushed the front door open and walked inside. He'd been expecting a mess, but the state of the living room made him gasp. The wolf had torn the upholstery off the sofa and armchair, ripped the curtains down and shredded the carpet. Worst of all, the Beast had smashed the TV to pieces. Looking at it caused a tightness in his chest; his mum would kill him. If she lived to see the destruction. He hoped she was still alive to be able to kill him.

Finding no sign of his parents in the living room, he went through to the kitchen and breathed a sigh of relief to see the room relatively unscathed. The wolf had knocked the dining table over and smashed the back door off its hinges, but the rest of the room seemed normal.

He checked the rest of the house. His room exhibited its usual state of post-full-moon horror, apart from the door no longer being attached to the frame. That was new. His parent's room and the bathroom were untouched. The wolf must have gone straight for the living room, straight for his parents. He inhaled deeply and found no scent of human blood—a promising sign. But if they survived, and they were unhurt, then where were they? He grabbed some clothes from his parents' room and went to the kitchen to find something to eat and wait for them to show up.

Their absence continued well into nightfall, and he paced the floor in front of the living room window, watching for their return. During the evening, he had cleaned up most of the mess, paying particular attention to clearing the fireplace of obstruction in case they came home by floo. While doing so, he'd briefly considered flooing to St. Mungo's, but if he did, and they weren't there, the Ministry could find out his wolf had escaped. It was an executable offence, and he couldn't take the risk. There was nothing left to do but wait.

A loud crack sounded from the kitchen. Remus' head whipped around, and he hurried towards the noise. When he turned the corner, his dad was standing with his back to the door holding his mum. She was leaning against him, sobbing into his chest. Neither of them noticed him in the doorway, but he let out a breath and relaxed his tense muscles. They were both okay.

'Shh, honey, we'll find him,' his dad said, rubbing her back.

'I can't bear the thought of him out there all alone in the dark. He must be so scared, Lyall,' his mum said, still sobbing.

Remus stepped forward. 'Mum, it's okay. I'm right here.'

His mum's head jerked up, and his dad released her, spinning around.

'Remus?' she said. 'Oh, Remus, you're okay! How did you get home?'

'I'll tell you in a minute,' he said. 'Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?'

'No, we're fine, sweetheart. Your dad apparated us away the moment we heard the wolf break your door down. I was so worried, though. We started searching as soon as the sun came up, but we couldn't find any sign of you.'

They went through to the living room and his dad reparo'd the sofa and armchair. He could do nothing for the TV, though. His mum had given it a sad look but hadn't said a word about it, which only made his chest tighten even more. When they were all seated, he relayed the story of his journey back to the house. His mum praised him for his ability to think logically in a crisis. His dad only said they would need to find something more secure for the next full moon.

March 21st, 3:27 am

Standing out in the back garden of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Sirius shivered. It was bloody freezing. He looked around at his extended family, all dressed in their Black family robes, jet black and inlaid with a swirling pattern in silver thread. None of them seemed to be cold, heating charms no doubt. His bitch of a mother had likely "forgotten" to do his robes intentionally. He scowled at her when she wasn't looking. Another blast of frigid air hit him, and he shivered again. He didn't want to be there. The Black family ritual disgusted him, and the long-dead ancestor that invented it was probably insane. He'd long since decided to get rid of the practice when he was head of the family. Strengthening your magical core to enhance the casting of dark magic was unnecessary if you didn't use dark magic.

The family stood in a large circle around a vast silver cauldron, which gleamed under the light of the half-moon, a glowing beacon in the dark garden. Inside, a deep purple potion bubbled menacingly. His father stood at the cauldron stirring the brew, moving his lips as he counted. Seven stirs clockwise, one anti-clockwise. His father raised a hand, and his cousin Bellatrix stepped forward. She sprinkled her handful of powdered nightshade into the cauldron with a flourish before returning to her spot in the circle. The potion turned a sickly green as his father began stirring again in a different pattern.

He had never understood why they all needed a role in making the potion. Surely, his father could make it alone and just give them all some in the morning, you know, during the daytime. His father raised his hand again, and Bellatrix's sister Andromeda walked forward. She plopped her five dragon claws into the potion one at a time. In between the addition of each claw, his father stirred the potion clockwise, and the brew lightened a little. By the time Andromeda had finished her job and returned to her spot, the potion glowed a pleasant sunshine-yellow. She glanced at Sirius across the circle and pulled a face. His father stirred the potion in a slow figure-eight pattern.

The ritual continued on, each member of the family stepping forward in turn to add an ingredient. The potion changed colour many times during the process, and the fire beneath the cauldron burned hot, then cold, then hot again.

When his father raised his hand for the last time, the potion was an ominous black, dark as the void of space, and Sirius took his turn stepping forward. His mother had given him the ingredient flobberworm mucus, the most boring one in the potion and the last to be added. The fluid's single purpose was to thicken.

Annoyed at having to stand out in the cold night for several hours just to add a thickening agent to a potion, he stomped up to the cauldron, poured the vial's contents in with a splash and stomped his way back to his position, letting his irritation show on his face as well as in his body language. His mother scowled at him. Her expression promised punishment for his actions, but he couldn't care less.

With the potion completed, Kreacher appeared holding a tray of silver goblets inlaid with emeralds. His father decanted a little of the potion into each, and Kreacher took them around to the family members. When everyone held a full goblet, his father checked the time, and at 5:38 am, the moment of the equinox, he raised his goblet and said the words of the incantation.

Everyone raised their goblets to their mouths and drank the potion. Sirius raised his too, but only pretended to drink. He assumed he must have drunk the potion when he was small, but he hadn't since he was five and his uncle Alphard had explained to him what it did. Hopefully, the potion's effects had worn off; he wanted no part of the dark arts. When everyone began heading inside, he poured the contents of his goblet into the shrubbery and spotted Andromeda doing the same. Interesting.

March 24th

Sirius paid dearly for his behaviour at the ritual. His mother had chained him in the cellar, and three days had passed with no food. Regulus couldn't reach him down there, and he lay on the floor, weak and shivering from the gnawing pain in his stomach and the cold moisture of the cellar. The odd rat was scuttling about, but Sirius didn't mind rats. He talked to them, and they kept him company in his misery. His wrists were sore and bleeding from the rough manacles, and his arm muscles ached from dragging the heavy chains around whenever he moved his arms, so he tried to stay as still as possible.

He regretted being so impulsive at the ritual. Allowing his annoyance to dictate his actions was a mistake. If he had kept himself under control and behaved with respect, he wouldn't be suffering. It was the same way every time. He would get the urge to do something, and he never stopped to think of the consequences. He wasn't sure if he even could think ahead in that way. His brain didn't seem to work like that. He would feel something and need to act on it immediately. He felt the urge to run, and he ran, the urge to jump, and he jumped. Stopping himself when he felt like that seemed impossible. He didn't understand how other people could do it.

He was still lying there, on his side on the filthy ground, when the heavy door creaked open. Peering up, he made out the silhouette of his mother framed in the doorway. He blinked a few times, and his vision cleared.

She sneered at him. 'Have you learned your lesson, you insolent little brat?' She spat the words at him, and he flinched.

'Yes, Mother.' His voice came out croaky from lack of use.

She flicked her wand, and the manacles fell from his wrists. 'Get cleaned up and then join us in the dining room for dinner, and you better behave yourself.'

Merlin knows how he would maintain proper table manners when he felt so weak, but he needed to try. Another punishment so soon would surely kill him.

March 30th

Remus watched his dad digging the hole in the garden and shuddered. The pit was already deep enough that he could see only the top of his dad's head, but he was still digging. Streams of dirt flew up out of the hole and added themselves to the growing pile at the side.

Swallowing hard, he tried not to think about how cold he would be, waiting there for the moon to rise in the winter. Hopefully, his dad would think to add a warming charm, but that was unlikely.

Transforming there would be brutal. Cold always made pain feel worse, and the wolf would hate being confined in such a compact space, especially after its taste of freedom. The beast would undoubtedly take out its frustration on itself. He hugged himself and gripped his sides, digging his fingers into his ribs. If it kept his mum safe, he would endure it.

His throat tightened, and he grimaced. He hadn't been treating his mum as well as he should recently. The wolf made him irritable and short-tempered, and he kept snapping at her over the slightest thing. His mum told him not to worry, that heightened emotions are a natural part of growing up, but he didn't believe her. She was just trying to make him feel better. Maybe one day, the wolf would take over his human body entirely, and there would be nothing left of him.

His dad continued working in the garden over the next few days. When the pit was complete, he laid a foundation of concrete and reinforced the structure with enchanted rebar. Next, he began building up the walls with cinder blocks, enchanting each one as he went. Remus sat with his back against a tree in the garden, enjoying the pleasant breeze through his hair and the sun's heat on his skin. He was rereading The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 for the fifteenth time and practising the wand movements with a stick, but the distant roar of a car engine made him pause. The sound grew louder, and a minute later, his mum's battered blue hatchback came into view. He watched as she pulled up in front of the house, exited the vehicle and retrieved several bags of groceries from the boot.

She glanced over and, spotting him under the tree, yelled, "Remus, can you come inside a minute, please?"

Remus sighed at the interruption to his studying. He grudgingly closed the book, marking his page with an old scrap of parchment, and dragged himself to his feet.

When he entered the kitchen, he found his mum grinning inanely at him.

'I got you a present.'

'Why?' He gritted his teeth and fisted his hands at his sides. He didn't deserve a present. She shouldn't be spending her money on him, especially when they were spending so much on building his cage. Didn't she understand that it only made him feel worse?

'Because I love you,' she said like it was the simplest thing in the world. 'I know how worried you are about your temper. I saw this in the second-hand book section at the charity shop, and I thought it might help.'

So it was a second-hand book? That eased his guilt a bit. They usually cost very little, and he never could say no to a book.

'What is it?'

She handed him a bag, and he pulled the book out and stared at the cover for a beat. Calm the Beast with Meditation. The book was muggle, so the title couldn't be literal, but still, it made his heart hurt.

'You saw this, and it made you think of me?' he said, looking up with tears burning his eyes.

His mum bit her lip and frowned. 'Well... yes... but not because of the title. Oh, Remus, wait, don't...'

But she was too late. He dropped the book and fled to his room.

He stayed there for the rest of the day. His mum considered him a beast. There was a painful tightness in his throat, and it was hard to breathe. He didn't know how to deal with his feelings, so he made himself get angry instead. The emotion came easily. The anger always burned, bubbling away just beneath the surface. All he needed to do was stop suppressing it.

His rage came out in a whirlwind of fury. He screamed and roared, battered his fists against the wall and kicked the furniture. The destruction he wrought on his belongings rivalled the wolf. Neither of his parents came to intervene. Probably too scared of the beast. He eventually wore himself out and fell into a fitful sleep full of nightmares about the wolf killing his parents.

April 3rd

The next day, Remus couldn't bear to show his face, and he watched from the window again as his dad worked. He'd finished laying the cinder blocks the day before. Today he was positioning one-inch thick steel rods across the top to seal the opening without blocking off the airflow. He fixed each one in place with a permanent sticking charm. How was he going to get in and out?

A knock sounded at his bedroom door, and he winced—time to face the music.

'Come in,' he mumbled, turning away from the window.

The door opened, and his mum walked in, holding the book just like on his birthday.

'I'm sorry I upset you yesterday, sweetheart. Will you give me a chance to explain?' she asked.

She shouldn't be the one apologising. It was him that had overreacted.

'No,' he started, and she winced. 'I mean, yes, you can explain, but I meant no, you shouldn't be saying sorry, I should.' He paused to stop himself babbling. 'I overreacted, and I'm sorry, Mum.'

She sat down at one end of the bed cross-legged and smiled at him, patting the spot in front of her. He joined her, and once he was settled, she started talking.

'I bought this because it's a book on meditation. If there had been another with a different title, I would have bought it instead. But this was the only one,' she said, looking him in the eye. 'Do you believe me?'

'Yes. Of course.'

'Good. Now that's out of the way. I thought it could help you because meditating gives you more control over your emotions and it can even reduce pain,' she said, holding the book out to him. 'Please, give it a chance?'

He took the book and turned it over to read the back. The blurb confirmed everything his mum had told him, and it intrigued him. Could a muggle practice really help with such a magical problem? He would give it a shot. Anything was worth a try if it would keep him from becoming a monster.

May 12th

Remus had been practising meditation every day for several weeks, and he found it was helping a little to compartmentalise the pain of the transformation. Following the instructions in the book, he had built a fortress in his mind. His castle contained hundreds of rooms. In some, he placed memories that he didn't want to think about. In others, he placed emotions, so he could control when they came out and when they didn't.

One room in his castle was built specifically for the pain of transformation. He had created it with thick steel walls and a door from a bank vault. He placed the pain inside and locked the door. Morphing into a wolf still hurt, but it was lessened a little, and he was better able to control his reactions to the pain. Hopefully, with dedication, he could lower it to a more bearable level. He wasn't delusional enough to think he could ever make it disappear completely.

The book had said he would need to rebuild his mental landscape each time he meditated, but that didn't seem to be the case for him. When he built something in his mind, it remained there when he left and was still standing when he returned. It must work differently for magical folk.

Meditation did nothing to control the behaviour of the wolf though, and the full moon two days earlier had been brutal. The wolf hated its new cage and made sure that he knew it. He had woken in the morning to find his body torn apart; the wolf had left great gouges in all his limbs and had attempted to chew its paw off. It had almost succeeded. His hand was left dangling from his wrist, and he had spent two full days in bed recovering from his wounds, despite the accelerated healing that came as a free-gift with lycanthropy.

Now that he was finally healed, he was eager to get back to it. Meditation was the first thing he did every morning, and the last thing he did every night, and this day would be no different. Indeed, it was even more important to practise when he had missed two days because of his injuries. He sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his back straight. His head was lowered, his hands in his lap and his eyes closed. He sank into his mental landscape and took pleasure in its familiarity.

His mental image of himself differed from reality. In his head, he didn't have rings under his eyes, and he wasn't pale and sickly. His mental self was strong and healthy, and he walked with quick strides as he approached the front door of his fortress. It looked like a medieval castle on the outside, surrounded by tall fences to keep out intruders. But on the inside, he had decorated for comfort, with smooth painted walls and carpeted floors in pale blue.

The door opened for him as he strolled up, welcoming him inside. He explored the halls, checking on the rooms to be sure everything was as it should be. Some doors that were supposed to be locked had worked their way open in his absence, and it took some time to resecure them.

Once he was satisfied with his mental housekeeping, he left, locked the door behind him and opened his eyes. Meditation always left him with a deep sense of calm, even better than walking in the woods. He didn't lose his temper as much anymore, and he no longer felt like he was losing control of himself to the wolf. He really should thank his mum for buying the book for him. Maybe he could get up early and make her breakfast.