Fic: Hunger Moon (Potterverse, PG)
Another story in the increasing AU Regulus Arc.
Title: Hunger Moon
Summary: What do you do when you stumble on a secret that challenges everything you've ever been taught to believe?
Rating: PG (mention of slash, mild profanity)
Ships: Remus/Sirius (mentioned)
A/N: This story begins three days after "Where The Eagles Fly" in the same Arc.
The Hunger Moon is the Algonquin and colonial name for the full moon that occurs in February. The medieval name for it was the Storm Moon; the neo-Pagan name, the Snow Moon.
Thank you, thistlerose for the quick beta.
***
Wednesday, 5 January 1977 to Thursday, 6 January 1977
Regulus didn't pay much attention to the fact that Remus Lupin fell ill just three days after they returned to school.
For one thing, it was January, which meant cold and flu season--and Madam Pomfrey's Pepperup Potion didn't cure colds, it just destroyed the symptoms. Every student at Hogwarts had been 'walking around sick' at some point--free of sneezes, coughs, stuffy noses, fevers, but still ill. Sooner or later, the body progressed from symptomless illness to exhaustion, and a need for bed rest.
Secondly, Regulus had a hectic schedule on Wednesdays, starting with Double Potions with the Slytherins first thing in the morning and ending with Astronomy at midnight. Drawing a detailed lunar and stellar chart of the winter sky in the Northern Hemisphere was a hard assignment in itself. Trying to cope with the rage and hatred of his former housemates and attempting not to alienate his new ones was even worse.
Consequently, Regulus didn't notice Remus' absence that Wednesday, or Thursday morning. By the time he stumbled into the dorm, his ankles and feet were so sore after standing outside on the Astronomy Tower for an hour or so that his only interest was in climbing to the third-year Gryffindor boys dormitory before he collapsed. And the next morning his feet and ankles were badly swollen, so that leaving the third floor of Gryffindor Tower and creeping downstairs before the staircases started switching destinations--never mind before breakfast--was more than a little tricky.
He did, however, notice when the older boy showed up for dinner on Thursday night.
Remus looked utterly exhausted. His arms, neck and part of his torso were badly bruised; his legs moved stiffly. His face was colourless and strained. His lips were pressed firmly together in a thin, pale line.
He's been beaten. Hard, Regulus thought, sickened. He'd seen Remus looking injured prior to this, but he'd never realised before how badly hurt the other boy had been.
I guess I didn't pay much attention to the Gryffindor table when I was in Slytherin, he thought.
He kept his head down, as if engrossed in consuming his shepherd's pie, and covertly surveyed Remus. Mostly bruises, but there were definitely four parallel scratches on his right cheek, and a half-healed bite mark on his upper left arm. Not a bite made by human teeth, either. The wound looked like--well, like the ones that he and Sirius had received from the Crups, only much larger. Higher, too; a Crup wouldn't be able to reach the upper arm or the shoulder, not unless its target had been bending down or kneeling.
So someone beat him. And then set some dogs on him. Big dogs. Collies. German shepherds. Newfoundlands.
Except that there weren't any packs of ravening collies in the area of Hogwarts. Or in Hogsmeade, either. Not to his knowledge, anyway.
He shoved a forkful of beef, chicken and onion in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
All right. Maybe Remus had blundered into the Forbidden Forest for some reason. Or had been dared to enter it. And maybe he'd been attacked by some wild animal. Or group of wild animals. He'd say wolves, except that was impossible. There were so few wolves in Scotland that the Muggles wanted to bring wolves back. Something about controlling the red deer population. Obviously Remus' attackers weren't wolves. Scottish wolves were practically extinct.
Wildcats, maybe. He'd heard a good bit about the wildcats in the Forbidden Forest.
The only problem with the wildcat theory, he thought, swallowing a mouthful of milk, is the way Remus is acting.
Or, rather, not acting. He would have expected Remus to be talking animatedly to his friends about meeting and fighting off a wildcat or two. Instead, Remus was subdued, saying little.
And Sirius, James and Peter were letting him get away with it.
Not a single question, comment or joke. It was, Regulus realised, as if Remus being hurt was normal--and something that the three other boys knew he wouldn't want to talk about.
He speared a chunk of potato with his fork and ate it, wondering about Remus as he did so.
Abuse?
It was certainly possible. More possible than anything else he'd thought of so far.
But--who?
Not Remus' parents. Sirius had mentioned them several times over the holiday, and he sounded daft about them. Anyway, they lived in southern Scotland, in Melrose. Hogwarts was farther north, near Inverness.
Would Remus' parents have made a special trip north simply to beat Remus up? Regulus highly doubted it.
All right, then. What about the Slytherins?
No. Remus had been battered and bruised prior to tonight. If Regulus' cousins and their friends had hurt Remus before tonight, Regulus would have heard them boasting about it.
And Cedric Tynbridge's somewhat smaller group of Slytherins didn't indulge in bullying people from other houses. In fact, Cedric barely seemed to notice that there were four houses; he acted as if everyone was in the same house. Before being re-Sorted into Gryffindor, Regulus had been in Cedric's Potions study group, which had made Severus Snape sneer. Hardly astonishing, as Snape was a natural at Potions. Cedric was good at Potions, but not a genius. However, he was brilliant at teaching. And healing, which seemed to be his sole ambition in life.
Lestrange, Nott, Goyle and Avery despised Cedric; their most common epithet for him was "blood traitor." Cedric ignored their contempt, their loathing of those from other houses, and their hushed support for Voldemort, and cheerfully went about his business as if they were no more than mosquitoes, which made them hate him all the more.
That accounted for all the Slytherins Regulus could think of. So who else could Remus' attacker be?
There was that sixth-year Ravenclaw, Josh Mittelmann, an aspiring Dark Wizard if ever there was one. Mittelmann liked cursing people--especially those who were Muggleborn, halfbloods, or blood traitors. He could have hit Remus with a curse. Or two. Or ten.
The problem with that theory was that though Mittelmann was a twisted, cruel bastard, he wasn't suicidal. He had sycophants, not allies who would risk anything to defend him, and he knew it. Moreover, Remus had a good imagination. He also had three vengeful friends who would magically flay Mittelmann alive for trying to hurt Remus, even if Remus ordered them not to.
Regulus glanced over at the Ravenclaw table. Mittelmann was there as usual, looking undamaged and unafraid. More important, Sirius and his friends were paying no attention to the Ravenclaw table in general or to Josh Mittelmann in particular.
Not the Slytherins. Not Mittelmann. As far as he knew, there were no bullies in Hufflepuff.
This is hopeless. There aren't any suspects!
He cast a surreptitious glance at Remus, who was already half-asleep over his dinner. Sirius was gazing at Remus with a helpless, angry expression, the expression of a man who is watching his beloved suffer and is unable to stop it.
The pain in Sirius' face stabbed at Regulus.
All right, thought Reg, pushing aside the remnants of the shepherd's pie and taking a plate of jam roly-poly from the centre of the table. All right. I have to do something about this. I have to find out who's hurting Remus. Or try to find out. Because I promised.
/I'll never hurt you again/, he'd told his brother. /Nor anyone you love./
/Does that include Moony?/ Sirius had demanded.
/Yes. I guess it has to./
He sighed. For thirteen years he'd never bothered with ethical decisions. Now, ever since the Christmas hols, situations demanding ethical choices kept popping up like mushrooms after rain.
Of course, technically, he'd only promised not to hurt Remus. Not to stop Remus from being hurt.
If you're not stopping him from being hurt, you are hurting him, he told himself sternly. It's the same thing.
All right. All right. I'll do what I can.
In his mind, Regulus could hear James speaking sternly. Do more than you think you can. Anything happens to Sirius--or any of his friends--you die.
Now that was motivation, if he needed any.
Time to head back to the Gryffindor dorms. He needed to think.
He braced himself against the table, gripped the handle of his cane in his left hand, and pulled himself to his feet. He murmured a polite "Excuse me, please" that no one paid the slightest attention to. Using his hips and his cane, he managed to push his chair back against the table. Then, putting as much of his weight against the cane as he dared, he hobbled toward the door in an oddly rhythmic gait as he thrust his cane forward, with his right leg moving almost normally and the left leg dragging behind, forward-walk-drag, forward-walk-drag.
By the time he walked from the ground floor to the base of Gryffindor Tower on the seventh floor, he was completely knackered. He leaned against the portrait of the Fat Lady, struggling to get his breath.
"Good heavens, you look exhausted," said the Fat Lady in a disapproving voice. "You really should get more rest. And so should your brother. He and his friends came staggering back to the dorms around dawn. I don't think they'd got a wink of sleep."
Regulus frowned. "Was Remus Lupin with them?"
"No, dear," the Fat Lady said. "I haven't seen him since before last night. Most likely he was in the Infirmary. He often is."
"Why? What's wrong with him?"
"I've no idea," said the Fat Lady reprovingly. "I've never asked."
"I mean," Regulus said, thinking fast, "is he often in the infirmary because he's sick, or because he's hurt?"
"Shouldn't you be asking him that, dear? Now. What's the password, please?"
Regulus sighed. "Diricawls and Doxies."
The portrait hole opened, and he entered.
A boy and girl he didn't know were cheerfully snogging in front of the fire. That was all right with Regulus. Unfortunately, there was no way to move swiftly, gracefully and noiselessly through the Gryffindor common room when walking with a cane. Canes were not discreet accessories.
The two sprang apart at the thump of his cane. The girl muttered something that Regulus suspected he was just as happy not to hear. The boy was more direct. "Oh. The spy from Slytherin."
"I'm not a spy," said Regulus patiently, repeating a line he'd said several thousand times in the past few days (and which he expected to have to say at least a billion times more). "And I didn't come up here to watch you snog. I came back to do my homework. If you'll excuse me."
So saying, he turned toward the Boys' Stairs. It was a terrible exit line, and he knew it, but he didn't feel like fighting with the other boy; he could understand the distrust all too well. If a Gryffindor had been re-Sorted into Slytherin, the reactions of most of the Slytherins would have been far more hostile. The Gryffindors were simply suspicious. Which was reasonable--as far as the other Gryffindors were concerned, Reg was just an arbitrary Slytherin-toady-incipient bully-future Dark Wizard who'd been wished on them for reasons unknown. Which, he had to admit (even though it made him cringe), was a pretty fair assessment of what he'd been like before the winter holidays.
Aside from Regulus himself, only Sirius, James, Remus and Peter knew what had happened over Christmas. None of them showed any eagerness to betray his secret, for which Regulus was everlastingly grateful. He could just hear himself trying to explain the re-Sort to the other third-years, should the secret leak out. Over Christmas hols, I outed Sirius to our parents. Then I attempted to murder him. Then I changed my mind and went after him. And that, boys and girls, is why I got re-Sorted into Gryffindor...
Yes. That would go over so well.
I wonder if Remus' secret is as shameful as mine, he thought as he limped into the third-year boys' dormitory. It didn't seem possible that it could be. He wasn't being beaten by his parents or by students from other houses. James was still issuing occasional threats to Regulus about what would happen if Sirius were hurt, and even showing disrespect to Remus counted as hurting Sirius in James' book . So definitely not James. Peter had to be eliminated on purely physical grounds--he was appreciably shorter than Remus, and not exactly muscular. Besides, Peter was too nice. He'd never hurt a fly. Well...if the fly were from Slytherin, maybe. But not one of his three best friends.
And he couldn't imagine Sirius hurting Remus. Not voluntarily. Sirius would cut off his own head before doing that.
Remus is in the infirmary a lot, though. The Fat Lady said that much. Something has to be putting him there. And it's not likely to be germs. He wouldn't be going to school here if he were coming down with dragon pox every month or so. Anyway, wizards don't become sick or get hurt that often. Even at St Mungo's, most of the patients are there because of accidents, or serious bites, or curses.
It just didn't add up.
Trying to put the matter out of his mind, Regulus sat down on his bed and started leafing through his homework. A twelve-inch essay on grindylows for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Well, that wasn't due till Monday. He could wait a day or two before starting that. For Divination, making ten predictions about the future of your assigned study partner utilising cards, runes, palmistry, oneiromancy or stichomancy, then interpreting them. It, too, was due on Monday, but he put that in the "to be started tonight" pile; interpretations of predictions tended to take him a while. Two feet of parchment on the Goblin Wars for Professor Binns. Yuck. Fortunately, that wasn't due till next Wednesday. For Astronomy, use of the lunar and stellar chart that he'd drawn up on Wednesday to calculate the phases of the moon for the next month, as well as its influence on people, magical plants, magical animals and Dark Creatures. Due tomorrow. Blast.
Wait.
Phases of the moon...?
He shows up once a month looking battered and exhausted...
He wasn't in the dormitory last night. And he went straight to the Infirmary the next morning.
And last night was the full moon.
And the influence of the moon on Dark Creatures...
It can't be. Even Dumbledore wouldn't be this liberal.
You're jumping to conclusions, Reg, he told himself. You don't have any proof. Keep a close eye on him till the next full moon. And see what happens then.
***
Friday, 7 January 1977 to Friday, 4 February 1977
The next lunar month was a long and arduous one for Regulus. He discovered beyond question that he was not suited to be Regulus Black, Master Detective. He did not enjoy checking Remus' health against the phases of the moon. Nor did he like what he noticed: that Remus seemed both healthier and calmer when the moon was waning, and that he grew paler, tenser and more agitated as it waxed toward full.
Regulus perceived other things, too, on seemingly casual visits to the room that his brother and his brother's friends shared. For example, no silver items. It was fairly common for a well-off family to give a young wizard or witch a silver mirror for Divination practice, a silver basin for distilling plants whose powers were enhanced by moonlight or a silver knife for cutting up certain potions' ingredients. Remus and Peter not having such things was logical--Remus' family was poor (not to mention Scottish, and therefore thrifty by definition), and Peter--well, a widow who baked for a living wasn't going to splurge on accoutrements of silver, even for a beloved only son. But James...the Potters had plenty of money. They could afford such things. And he knew that Sirius had once possessed a silver knife and a silver set of scales--both had been heirlooms, and both had been given to him before he had been Sorted into Gryffindor. They had vanished, abruptly, when Sirius was in third year. Sirius had claimed that he'd lost them. He hadn't been able to satisfy their mother as to how he could lose something kept in his dorm room that he'd heretofore kept under an unbreakable Locking Charm.
Regulus also noticed that Remus ate considerably more chocolate in late January and early February, as the moon turned inexorably toward full once more. A careful perusal of the Hogwarts library told him why--chocolate contained chemicals that reduced anxiety and diminished sensitivity to pain. It was more medicine than candy.
Above all, he tried repeatedly to reassure his conscience that he was not doing anything wrong.
/You're spying on him./
No, I'm not. I'm trying to find out why he keeps getting hurt. I promised not to let anyone Sirius cares about be hurt.
/This isn't about that promise anymore. You just want to know if he really is...you know./
He can't be!
/Why not?/
Werewolves don't go to wizarding schools!
/Hogwarts isn't a normal wizarding school. And Dumbledore isn't a typical headmaster./
No, but...it's far more likely that he's being beat up.
/Every month at the full moon? And he puts up with it?/
S & M, maybe?
/Oh, come on. Who do you think his partner is? You've seen him and Sirius together. They make each other happy. Neither one would tolerate an open relationship./
Sirius can be a bully sometimes, though.
/Sirius doesn't take pleasure from pain./
There isn't any solid proof.
/There is, however, quite a lot of circumstantial evidence./
It's still not proof.
/The only way you could get absolute proof would be if he transformed in front of you. And you might not survive that. Face it--the only evidence you'll have will be circumstantial. And what are you going to do when you know for certain what he is?/
It was a month of many, many sleepless nights.
Finally, the fourth of February arrived. The night of the full moon.
Regulus planned carefully for this day. He rested after classes were over. He ate lightly that evening, and, pleading a sickish feeling in his stomach (which was no more than the truth), went to bed early.
When he bid his brother good night, he was far from surprised to learn that Remus, too, had felt unwell, and that he had reported to the Infirmary after dinner.
Footsteps heading downstairs woke Regulus around midnight. But he saw nothing...not even shadows moving outside the door of his dorm. And he heard no voices...only the footsteps fading as they thumped downstairs with all of the grace of elephants on tiptoe.
Regulus waited for what felt like an hour, hoping against hope that he would receive some clue as to what was going on.
Nothing. It was maddening.
I want to know, damn it, Regulus thought, punching his pillow ferociously. I spent enough time trying to figure it out. Now I want to know.
Still nothing.
Fine. Just...fine.
Regulus scowled and turned over in bed, trying to convince himself that he was not the least bit disappointed and was too tired to care much, anyway.
Then he heard it.
The howl.
For a moment, Regulus lay frozen in bed, half-afraid he'd imagined it and half-afraid he hadn't.
The howl resounded again. This time it seemed to be headed toward the Forbidden Forest.
"Will someone shut that dog up?" muttered one of the other third-years, pulling his pillow over his head and rolling over.
It wasn't a dog, thought Regulus, the blood congealing in his veins.
The harmonics had been all wrong. It hadn't sounded like a tame dog. It didn't even sound like a starving and savage Crup. The owner of that voice had never seen any advantage to being tamed by a human, and had never slept by a fire. It was a million years from thinking of such absurdities.
Regulus could feel his primitive ancestors whispering what the howl meant. The beast was singing of hunger, blood, the hunt and the pack. The cry was as cold, as austerely beautiful and as alien as the stars.
And yet, in the middle of the howl, the voice had twisted, just for a moment, into an all-too-human cry of despair, and a shriek of pain.
There was only one thing left to do. One thing left to check.
Regulus rolled onto his side, swivelled his hips over the side of the bed, gripped one of the posts of his four-poster bed and pulled himself into a sitting position, then, bracing himself with his cane, stood up.
Barefoot, he padded downstairs, struggling not to wake anyone in the process. It would be rather hard to explain why he had to check out the infirmary in the middle of the night.
He was in luck. The Fat Lady was dozing, and whoever or whatever had crept downstairs earlier (and was it really so hard to guess those three names?) had left the portrait slightly ajar so that they could slip back in with ease, hopefully unnoticed. Carefully, cautiously, he did the same thing.
Three flights down, and a long careful trek it was, too. But at last Regulus found himself outside the doors of the Hogwarts Infirmary, peering into the darkened ward.
Not a soul inside. Every bed was empty.
No chance that Remus had gone to the loo, either. The beds were firm and smooth enough to bounce a Sickle off of. There wasn't a tangled bed sheet or wrinkled blanket to be seen. Remus clearly had not been here tonight. But Regulus was willing to bet that he would be there by tomorrow morning.
He hastened back to Gryffindor as swiftly and as silently as he could manage. The Fat Lady was still asleep, and the portrait was still ajar. Regulus slipped back into the Gryffindor common room without incident. Rummaging about for a few moments, he found a more-or-less clean sheet of parchment and a spare quill. Using the quill, he scribbled a terse message on the parchment, waited for the ink to dry, folded the parchment in half and then crept back to bed.
He stared silently into the darkness for the remainder of the night, clutching the parchment as if it were a talisman that could protect him until the sun rose.
***
Saturday, 5 February 1977
At eight o'clock the next morning, Regulus walked into the infirmary, then hastened over to the exhausted form curled up on the bed by the far wall.
"Hello, Regulus," said Remus, sounding more than a little tired, and looking at Regulus, clearly wondering why he was there.
"Hello, Remus." Regulus scuffed his shoe against the flagstone floor. "Could I ask you a question?"
"Of course." Remus stared at Regulus, puzzled. "But if it's about Sirius and me, maybe you should wait till he's here."
"It's not about you and Sirius...exactly. It's something else."
Remus quirked a quizzical eyebrow at Regulus. "I don't see why not."
Regulus pulled a piece of parchment from his robes and handed it to Remus.
"This is your question, I presume," Remus said wryly. "You could just ask me out loud, you know. People do that on occasion."
"I don't think you want anyone to overhear this question," Regulus retorted. "And I haven't learned Silencing Charms yet."
Remus glanced down on the parchment, then stiffened as he read the words:
REMUS, PLEASE TELL ME--ARE YOU A WEREWOLF?
Remus glared at the parchment, then at the younger boy. "You wouldn't have given me that note unless you were sure."
"I take it," said Regulus in a strained voice, "that this means that the answer is yes."
Remus nodded and bowed his head.
Regulus exhaled noisily, then sat down swiftly on Remus' bed. He glanced over at the older boy. "I have a few more questions...if that's all right."
Remus looked nothing so much as perplexed. "Shouldn't you be panicking about now? Or cursing me for lying to you? Or rummaging about in your pockets for something silver?"
Regulus frowned. "It's funny, but I don't feel like panicking. And you didn't lie to me--you were honest, though you didn't have to be. And I'm not carrying anything silver. Not that I'd insult you by carrying a-a silver spoon in my pocket, anyway." He swallowed violently. "D-does Sirius know?"
"Yes," said Remus quietly. "He knows. He's known since he was...oh, your age."
"You told him, then. Good."
Remus shook his head. "No," he said, his cheeks flushing slightly. "He, James and Peter figured it out." He glanced at Regulus and half-smiled. "If you want the truth, you were a lot quicker on the uptake than they were. You've only been in Gryffindor for a month. They'd been in the House for three years."
Regulus frowned, wrinkling his forehead in the process. "So you were a...when you came to Hogwarts?"
"Werewolf, Reg. You can say the word. No one's around except for Madam Pomfrey, and it certainly wouldn't surprise her. And yes, I was already a werewolf when I came here. I was bitten when I was five. Well, nearly six."
"Six!" Regulus gaped indignantly at Remus. "That's not fair."
"No, I suppose not," said Remus calmly. "The thing is, though, I don't remember not being a werewolf. I've been what I am for so long that I'm rather used to it now."
Regulus studied his face for a long time before pronouncing the verdict. "Rot," he said. "You have to remember what it was like the first time you changed, because it was all new. You wouldn't have known what to expect."
Remus shivered, and closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Regulus said, sounding contrite. "I didn't mean to bring it all back."
"It was--" Remus shuddered again. "You're right, of course. I never have forgotten. I hadn't been back from St. Mungo's for long, and I was just glad to be home. I suppose the Healers told me what I was, but I didn't understand. All I remember is that I was playing on the carpet when my dad stood up, put his hand on my shoulder and told me to come with him. Mum was standing behind him. She was crying." Remus opened his eyes once more, staring at something beyond the Infirmary. "I remember hugging her and telling her not to cry, that it would be all right. That only made her cry harder.
"Anyway," continued Remus in a lost, far-off voice, "they both walked me to a shed out in the garden. And they made me strip down to the bare skin. I didn't understand--I thought I was going to be spanked or something. I thought I must have done something truly horrible. But that was nothing to how I felt when my parents picked up the clothes, and hugged and kissed me, telling me that they'd see me in the morning...and then walked out of the shed...and locked the door."
Remus paused, then drew a long, shaky breath.
"It was so dark in the shed," he whispered. "So dark. Just enough light to make shadows. Just enough wind to make moving shadows. I was convinced that there were monsters in the shadows, that the shadows were monsters, that I was about to be devoured alive by a piece of living darkness and that no one would ever see me alive again." His mouth twisted bitterly. "I was more accurate than I knew."
"What happened?" asked Regulus in a low voice.
Remus looked at him for the first time in ages. "I started to change. It was--can you imagine molten lead filling your bones, melting them down and re-casting them at the same time? Your spine shifting and extending part of itself into a tail? Hearing your skull crack and re-form itself? Can you imagine enduring this and not knowing what was happening to you? Can you imagine screaming and wondering why your parents don't come and save you?
"And then...when the change was complete..." Remus bit his lip, paused for a moment, then continued. "My parents were outside the shed. I didn't know they were my parents, of course. The wolf was in charge by then, not me. And the wolf smelled..."
"Prey?" suggested Regulus gently in the silence that followed. "Meat?"
Remus nodded, breathing slowly in and out as he fought for control.
"You didn't do anything, though. I've heard Sirius talk about your parents." Regulus smiled a trifle sadly. "I think he'd like to trade in ours for yours, actually. But he couldn't be envying you your parents if you'd hurt them--or killed them."
"I could have, though." Remus' voice was the barest whisper. "Or...the wolf could."
"And I could have killed Sirius this Christmas," said Regulus steadily. "I came much closer to murder than you did. And I don't have extenuating circumstances, like lycanthropy. I knew what I was doing. The wolf didn't. If it weren't for James..." He shook his head slightly, trying to clear it. "The point is you didn't hurt them. And even if you had, it wouldn't have been you who wanted to hurt them. Not the human you."
"Considering how your family feels about blood purity, I'm surprised you'd even refer to me as human," Remus replied in an even tone. "I'm a halfblood, I'm gay and I'm a werewolf. I rather doubt whether I'm a person in their eyes." Or yours, his brown eyes added.
Regulus scowled. "I'm not my family."
Remus waved his words aside. "No, of course not. But..." He allowed the word to trail away into nothingness, followed by a thousand unvoiced innuendoes.
There was an awkward silence.
"What's the worst bit?" Reg asked after a time, carefully not looking at Remus as he spoke. "Besides changing, I mean. That sounds nightmarish."
Remus was silent for so long that Reg thought he had drifted off to sleep. "I think...the way people react."
"Such as?" prompted Regulus.
"Well...there are a lot of stories about werewolves. You must have heard them."
"Dark Creatures, ravening beasts, evil incarnate, always hungry for human flesh," recited Regulus in a singsong voice. "I've heard them, yes. Most recently in my Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook. And from Professor Leverett, of course."
"You don't sound like you believe it."
"I don't." Regulus said, surprising himself.
"Why not?" Remus' voice was very patient.
"Well--I know you. I know that werewolves are officially described as Dark Creatures, but I don't think I've ever seen you ravening for anything except good books and Chocolate Frogs. And as far as being hungry for human flesh goes..." He surveyed Remus for a moment. Sirius would say he was just as hungry for your flesh, he thought.
Remus seemed to hear what he couldn't bring himself to say, for the corners of his mouth quirked up in a tired smile. "But that's because you know me. Now picture someone who's never met a werewolf who has heard all those stories and believes them implicitly."
Regulus winced.
"A lot of people think that lycanthropy is easy to catch," Remus continued, gazing up at the ceiling. "That I can pass on the disease if I shake hands or bump into someone or even breathe the same air." He glanced at Regulus. "It isn't that easy, you know. Lycanthropy can only be passed on by a transformed werewolf--and only if the werewolf bites the human hard enough to draw blood."
"I wish you'd stop talking about werewolves and humans as if they were two different things," Regulus said with irritation.
"But they are different, Regulus," said Remus in that same flat, patient tone. "You've had enough Defence Against the Dark Arts classes to know that. The Ministry classifies us as part-humans, like vampires. Most wizards, though...we're animals to them. Nonhuman. And, as you said, evil. I remember the first time that I went to the Werewolf Registry. My dad brought me. There was this woman there--well, I say 'woman,' but she looked like a toad in a pink cardigan, actually--and she told my father that it would have been better if I'd died, and suggested that I should be put down. Like a rabid dog."
Regulus unconsciously clenched his fists. "That's awful."
Remus sighed. "It says something that that's the worst thing I recall about the Werewolf Registry. You'd think that at six the tattooing would have bothered me more, but no, it was that woman, insulting me and hurting my dad."
Regulus frowned. "Tattooing? I thought that there was just a list of names and addresses of registered werewolves."
"There is a roster," Remus explained, "but that's not all. The Ministry of Magic has to have some way of identifying registered werewolves. And they don't want us to be able to pass as human. So they do this." With that, he bent forward and flipped up the longish brown hair at the back of his neck.
Regulus stared in disbelief at the tattoo. No words, just a jumble of letters and numbers. It read: LLRJ WRS 6-193.
"'Lycanthrope. Lupin, Remus J.,' " Remus recited in a muffled voice. " 'Wester Ross, Scotland--that's the location where I was bitten. Aged six at time of registry. One hundred and ninety-third registered werewolf since creation of Werewolf Registry.' That's what it means."
Without thinking about it, Regulus reached out and smoothed Remus' hair back down over the tattoo. "I'm sorry, " he said softly.
"Unless you're the one who bit me, I don't think you have to apologise." Remus rolled over on his side and gazed up at the younger boy. "So. Now you know. What are you going to do?"
"Do?" Regulus echoed, feeling confused. He'd planned to ask Remus what he was. Everything after that had been off the cuff.
Then he understood. "You don't have to worry," he said pleadingly. "I won't tell anyone. No one who doesn't already know. I swear by--" He broke off, unable to think of a vow that was strong enough.
"Not even your housemates?" Remus inquired diffidently.
"The Gryffindors--the other Gryffindors--don't like me much yet."
"But a story like this would really attract their attention. I'm sure it would fascinate them, actually."
"Stop." The word was almost a groan. "Remus, would you please stop? I'm not going to tell anyone. I'm not going to spread rumours about you. I'm not going to do anything, all right?"
"Why not?" Remus demanded as he glared at Regulus. "I can't very well make love to Sirius if parents and trustees start panicking about the possible danger I might pose to other students and begin clamouring for my expulsion. It's the perfect way to get me away from your brother. Why the hell wouldn't you use it?"
"Because it would hurt Sirius!" Regulus shouted. "And," he added in a wondering tone, "hurting Sirius would hurt you. Badly. I don't want to hurt you. You've been hurt enough. And it's not fair."
"And is it so important," Remus asked after a long pause, "not to hurt Sirius?"
"Yes." Regulus put his entire soul into the word, praying that Remus would hear how much he meant it.
"Why?
Regulus stared at the blankets. "You make him happy," he said at last, knowing the words were hopelessly inadequate. "I don't think anyone in the world matters to him as much as you."
"There's James."
Regulus shook his head. "James is his brother. It's not the same. At least," he added as a truly horrible thought occurred to him, "I hope it's not."
Remus smiled. "No. Definitely not the same." He hesitated for a moment. "Your brother's happiness means that much to you? So much that you'd tolerate his having sex with...not a man...a werewolf?"
"You're a man," said Regulus, feeling confused.
"No," Remus corrected with eerie calm. "I'm male, yes. But I am not a man. I'm not human, Regulus. I haven't been human since I was six years old."
The blunt words struck Regulus like cudgels of iron.
He began to shake. He couldn't help it.
He couldn't think of Remus as a monster. Cursed since childhood, yes, but not a monster. He was a halfblood, of course, but that wasn't Remus' fault--no one got to pick their parents. Anyway, the Lupins were, according to Sirius, pure heaven, whatever their bloodlines.
Remus being homosexual...all right. That was harder for Regulus to wrap his mind around.
He makes my brother happy, though. And it isn't just the sex that makes him happy, either.
But...not human.
By Remus' own admission, not human.
And there was no way around it. He could forgive the bloodlines, tolerate the homosexuality, and deny that Lupin was a monster by nature--but he couldn't pretend that a werewolf was a human being.
He stole a glance at Remus, who was now lying down and staring at Regulus, his brown eyes filled with sick despair.
Sick. Yes, that was the right word. Sick unto death and abandoned by all.
Regulus could hear his mother screaming at Remus in his mind.
Filth! Scum! Spawn of corruption! Twisted, depraved, debauched halfblood mutant freak...!
Shut up, Regulus ordered that hated, familiar voice.
And you! Blood traitor! Abomination! Shame of my flesh, worse than your foul brother ever was! You dare even consider accepting this--this thing? A savage beast disguised as a man? Have you forgotten what humanity IS?
Humanity. Regulus weighed the word, then, almost without thinking, compared it to his mother.
Then to Rodolphus.
Lucius.
Bellatrix.
Purebloods, all. Purely human. At least from a genetic standpoint.
Not as human as Will and Elizabeth Potter, though. The Potters, who had taken in him and his brother, fed them, kept them warm, got them medical treatment. And who were even now embroiled in a custody fight on his behalf.
Both the Blacks and the Potters were purebloods. But the Potters were human. Or humane.
Was there a difference?
Remus had been humane to him, even when he was in Slytherin. He'd always behaved as if Regulus was a better person than the one that the Slytherins demanded that he be. He'd been kind to Regulus, even friendly.
We were friends. Once.
He trusted me with his worst secrets, he thought. He told me the truth, though he knew it could cost him everything.
The Blacks versus the Potters and Remus. There was no question about who was more human.
He looked up and locked eyes with Remus Lupin. "Sorry," he said softly. "I had to settle an argument with my mother."
Remus glanced at him briefly, then looked away. "Who won?"
"You. I mean, me." Regulus took a deep breath. "I decided that a human being is a human being when he acts like one. Like you do."
Remus' face was very still. "Do you mean it? Or are you just saying it?"
A lot of people think that lycanthropy is easy to catch, Regulus heard Remus saying again. That I can pass on the disease if I shake hands or bump into someone or even breathe the same air.
"Want to shake on it?" Regulus offered his right hand.
Remus understood--Regulus could see that in his expression. He could also see that Remus was afraid to believe it, for he was shaking his head firmly. "You don't have to do that."
"I know I don't have to," said Regulus patiently. "I want to."
"You don't have to prove anything to me--"
"Merlin's beard, Remus, are you this stubborn with your other friends?"
Remus, inhaling sharply, stared at Regulus with such intensity that Regulus could almost see the wolf peering out of Remus' eyes. When he spoke, however, his voice was quiet and almost emotionless, only trembling a fraction at the end. "Friendship...isn't a word to be casual about."
Regulus knew that if he'd been thinking, he never would have blurted that out. However he felt about Remus--and he liked Remus a great deal--there was no question that they still had issues. Huge ones. The sensible thing to do would have been to wait until both of them had gotten past those issues, at least to a degree.
Too late now. He'd already told the truth.
And, he realised, he wasn't sorry.
He looked at Remus and tried to answer.
"I haven't got so many friends that I can afford to be casual about the word." Regulus swallowed as he forced himself to admit the next bit. "I know I'm not much. I'm a lot younger than you. And I've done some really--monstrous--things. But I'll be your friend. If you don't mind. If you want me to be."
Remus looked a question at him. Is this some form of rebellion on your part? Are you doing this to cock a snoot at your parents? Does befriending a werewolf seem novel or exotic or cool to you? If that's the reason--
Regulus tried to pour his whole answer into a look of his own. No. That's not it.
Unaccountably, he thought of Snape. I never thought I'd meet anyone who was more alone than Snape. Till now.
What must it be like, he thought, to be a creature the entire wizarding world hates? To be despised and rejected because of a disease that you never wanted and couldn't cure? To be feared because of what you might do? To be no more than a licensed animal in the eyes of almost everyone you meet? An animal that many think should be killed for the sake of society--or a wild beast to be hunted and slain, your skin or head treated as a trophy by your killer?
"I don't want your head, your pelt or your friendship as a trophy," he said abruptly. "I wasn't looking for a prize to put on the mantelpiece when I started digging. I thought you were being abused."
To his surprise, Remus chuckled at that. "That's what Sirius thought at first. You two are amazingly alike at times. And not just in looks." The laughter died, and his expression grew solemn. "But Reg, if this has anything to do with wanting a werewolf as a friend..."
"I don't want you for a friend because you're a werewolf!" Regulus snapped. "I want you as a friend because you're Remus. We were friends, once. I--I miss that." He bit his lower lip. "Can we try, anyway?"
Remus contemplated the ceiling for several minutes in silence. "It won't be easy," he said at last.
Regulus wasn't sure what Remus meant--getting past their problems or being friends at all. Either way, it was true. "I know," he said quietly.
"Then"-- A lean callused hand reached out and shook Regulus' own. "Yes."
Regulus was unsure of what to say. Thank you sounded pathetic. And inadequate.
He settled for a smile.
***
Title: Hunger Moon
Summary: What do you do when you stumble on a secret that challenges everything you've ever been taught to believe?
Rating: PG (mention of slash, mild profanity)
Ships: Remus/Sirius (mentioned)
A/N: This story begins three days after "Where The Eagles Fly" in the same Arc.
The Hunger Moon is the Algonquin and colonial name for the full moon that occurs in February. The medieval name for it was the Storm Moon; the neo-Pagan name, the Snow Moon.
Thank you, thistlerose for the quick beta.
***
Wednesday, 5 January 1977 to Thursday, 6 January 1977
Regulus didn't pay much attention to the fact that Remus Lupin fell ill just three days after they returned to school.
For one thing, it was January, which meant cold and flu season--and Madam Pomfrey's Pepperup Potion didn't cure colds, it just destroyed the symptoms. Every student at Hogwarts had been 'walking around sick' at some point--free of sneezes, coughs, stuffy noses, fevers, but still ill. Sooner or later, the body progressed from symptomless illness to exhaustion, and a need for bed rest.
Secondly, Regulus had a hectic schedule on Wednesdays, starting with Double Potions with the Slytherins first thing in the morning and ending with Astronomy at midnight. Drawing a detailed lunar and stellar chart of the winter sky in the Northern Hemisphere was a hard assignment in itself. Trying to cope with the rage and hatred of his former housemates and attempting not to alienate his new ones was even worse.
Consequently, Regulus didn't notice Remus' absence that Wednesday, or Thursday morning. By the time he stumbled into the dorm, his ankles and feet were so sore after standing outside on the Astronomy Tower for an hour or so that his only interest was in climbing to the third-year Gryffindor boys dormitory before he collapsed. And the next morning his feet and ankles were badly swollen, so that leaving the third floor of Gryffindor Tower and creeping downstairs before the staircases started switching destinations--never mind before breakfast--was more than a little tricky.
He did, however, notice when the older boy showed up for dinner on Thursday night.
Remus looked utterly exhausted. His arms, neck and part of his torso were badly bruised; his legs moved stiffly. His face was colourless and strained. His lips were pressed firmly together in a thin, pale line.
He's been beaten. Hard, Regulus thought, sickened. He'd seen Remus looking injured prior to this, but he'd never realised before how badly hurt the other boy had been.
I guess I didn't pay much attention to the Gryffindor table when I was in Slytherin, he thought.
He kept his head down, as if engrossed in consuming his shepherd's pie, and covertly surveyed Remus. Mostly bruises, but there were definitely four parallel scratches on his right cheek, and a half-healed bite mark on his upper left arm. Not a bite made by human teeth, either. The wound looked like--well, like the ones that he and Sirius had received from the Crups, only much larger. Higher, too; a Crup wouldn't be able to reach the upper arm or the shoulder, not unless its target had been bending down or kneeling.
So someone beat him. And then set some dogs on him. Big dogs. Collies. German shepherds. Newfoundlands.
Except that there weren't any packs of ravening collies in the area of Hogwarts. Or in Hogsmeade, either. Not to his knowledge, anyway.
He shoved a forkful of beef, chicken and onion in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
All right. Maybe Remus had blundered into the Forbidden Forest for some reason. Or had been dared to enter it. And maybe he'd been attacked by some wild animal. Or group of wild animals. He'd say wolves, except that was impossible. There were so few wolves in Scotland that the Muggles wanted to bring wolves back. Something about controlling the red deer population. Obviously Remus' attackers weren't wolves. Scottish wolves were practically extinct.
Wildcats, maybe. He'd heard a good bit about the wildcats in the Forbidden Forest.
The only problem with the wildcat theory, he thought, swallowing a mouthful of milk, is the way Remus is acting.
Or, rather, not acting. He would have expected Remus to be talking animatedly to his friends about meeting and fighting off a wildcat or two. Instead, Remus was subdued, saying little.
And Sirius, James and Peter were letting him get away with it.
Not a single question, comment or joke. It was, Regulus realised, as if Remus being hurt was normal--and something that the three other boys knew he wouldn't want to talk about.
He speared a chunk of potato with his fork and ate it, wondering about Remus as he did so.
Abuse?
It was certainly possible. More possible than anything else he'd thought of so far.
But--who?
Not Remus' parents. Sirius had mentioned them several times over the holiday, and he sounded daft about them. Anyway, they lived in southern Scotland, in Melrose. Hogwarts was farther north, near Inverness.
Would Remus' parents have made a special trip north simply to beat Remus up? Regulus highly doubted it.
All right, then. What about the Slytherins?
No. Remus had been battered and bruised prior to tonight. If Regulus' cousins and their friends had hurt Remus before tonight, Regulus would have heard them boasting about it.
And Cedric Tynbridge's somewhat smaller group of Slytherins didn't indulge in bullying people from other houses. In fact, Cedric barely seemed to notice that there were four houses; he acted as if everyone was in the same house. Before being re-Sorted into Gryffindor, Regulus had been in Cedric's Potions study group, which had made Severus Snape sneer. Hardly astonishing, as Snape was a natural at Potions. Cedric was good at Potions, but not a genius. However, he was brilliant at teaching. And healing, which seemed to be his sole ambition in life.
Lestrange, Nott, Goyle and Avery despised Cedric; their most common epithet for him was "blood traitor." Cedric ignored their contempt, their loathing of those from other houses, and their hushed support for Voldemort, and cheerfully went about his business as if they were no more than mosquitoes, which made them hate him all the more.
That accounted for all the Slytherins Regulus could think of. So who else could Remus' attacker be?
There was that sixth-year Ravenclaw, Josh Mittelmann, an aspiring Dark Wizard if ever there was one. Mittelmann liked cursing people--especially those who were Muggleborn, halfbloods, or blood traitors. He could have hit Remus with a curse. Or two. Or ten.
The problem with that theory was that though Mittelmann was a twisted, cruel bastard, he wasn't suicidal. He had sycophants, not allies who would risk anything to defend him, and he knew it. Moreover, Remus had a good imagination. He also had three vengeful friends who would magically flay Mittelmann alive for trying to hurt Remus, even if Remus ordered them not to.
Regulus glanced over at the Ravenclaw table. Mittelmann was there as usual, looking undamaged and unafraid. More important, Sirius and his friends were paying no attention to the Ravenclaw table in general or to Josh Mittelmann in particular.
Not the Slytherins. Not Mittelmann. As far as he knew, there were no bullies in Hufflepuff.
This is hopeless. There aren't any suspects!
He cast a surreptitious glance at Remus, who was already half-asleep over his dinner. Sirius was gazing at Remus with a helpless, angry expression, the expression of a man who is watching his beloved suffer and is unable to stop it.
The pain in Sirius' face stabbed at Regulus.
All right, thought Reg, pushing aside the remnants of the shepherd's pie and taking a plate of jam roly-poly from the centre of the table. All right. I have to do something about this. I have to find out who's hurting Remus. Or try to find out. Because I promised.
/I'll never hurt you again/, he'd told his brother. /Nor anyone you love./
/Does that include Moony?/ Sirius had demanded.
/Yes. I guess it has to./
He sighed. For thirteen years he'd never bothered with ethical decisions. Now, ever since the Christmas hols, situations demanding ethical choices kept popping up like mushrooms after rain.
Of course, technically, he'd only promised not to hurt Remus. Not to stop Remus from being hurt.
If you're not stopping him from being hurt, you are hurting him, he told himself sternly. It's the same thing.
All right. All right. I'll do what I can.
In his mind, Regulus could hear James speaking sternly. Do more than you think you can. Anything happens to Sirius--or any of his friends--you die.
Now that was motivation, if he needed any.
Time to head back to the Gryffindor dorms. He needed to think.
He braced himself against the table, gripped the handle of his cane in his left hand, and pulled himself to his feet. He murmured a polite "Excuse me, please" that no one paid the slightest attention to. Using his hips and his cane, he managed to push his chair back against the table. Then, putting as much of his weight against the cane as he dared, he hobbled toward the door in an oddly rhythmic gait as he thrust his cane forward, with his right leg moving almost normally and the left leg dragging behind, forward-walk-drag, forward-walk-drag.
By the time he walked from the ground floor to the base of Gryffindor Tower on the seventh floor, he was completely knackered. He leaned against the portrait of the Fat Lady, struggling to get his breath.
"Good heavens, you look exhausted," said the Fat Lady in a disapproving voice. "You really should get more rest. And so should your brother. He and his friends came staggering back to the dorms around dawn. I don't think they'd got a wink of sleep."
Regulus frowned. "Was Remus Lupin with them?"
"No, dear," the Fat Lady said. "I haven't seen him since before last night. Most likely he was in the Infirmary. He often is."
"Why? What's wrong with him?"
"I've no idea," said the Fat Lady reprovingly. "I've never asked."
"I mean," Regulus said, thinking fast, "is he often in the infirmary because he's sick, or because he's hurt?"
"Shouldn't you be asking him that, dear? Now. What's the password, please?"
Regulus sighed. "Diricawls and Doxies."
The portrait hole opened, and he entered.
A boy and girl he didn't know were cheerfully snogging in front of the fire. That was all right with Regulus. Unfortunately, there was no way to move swiftly, gracefully and noiselessly through the Gryffindor common room when walking with a cane. Canes were not discreet accessories.
The two sprang apart at the thump of his cane. The girl muttered something that Regulus suspected he was just as happy not to hear. The boy was more direct. "Oh. The spy from Slytherin."
"I'm not a spy," said Regulus patiently, repeating a line he'd said several thousand times in the past few days (and which he expected to have to say at least a billion times more). "And I didn't come up here to watch you snog. I came back to do my homework. If you'll excuse me."
So saying, he turned toward the Boys' Stairs. It was a terrible exit line, and he knew it, but he didn't feel like fighting with the other boy; he could understand the distrust all too well. If a Gryffindor had been re-Sorted into Slytherin, the reactions of most of the Slytherins would have been far more hostile. The Gryffindors were simply suspicious. Which was reasonable--as far as the other Gryffindors were concerned, Reg was just an arbitrary Slytherin-toady-incipient bully-future Dark Wizard who'd been wished on them for reasons unknown. Which, he had to admit (even though it made him cringe), was a pretty fair assessment of what he'd been like before the winter holidays.
Aside from Regulus himself, only Sirius, James, Remus and Peter knew what had happened over Christmas. None of them showed any eagerness to betray his secret, for which Regulus was everlastingly grateful. He could just hear himself trying to explain the re-Sort to the other third-years, should the secret leak out. Over Christmas hols, I outed Sirius to our parents. Then I attempted to murder him. Then I changed my mind and went after him. And that, boys and girls, is why I got re-Sorted into Gryffindor...
Yes. That would go over so well.
I wonder if Remus' secret is as shameful as mine, he thought as he limped into the third-year boys' dormitory. It didn't seem possible that it could be. He wasn't being beaten by his parents or by students from other houses. James was still issuing occasional threats to Regulus about what would happen if Sirius were hurt, and even showing disrespect to Remus counted as hurting Sirius in James' book . So definitely not James. Peter had to be eliminated on purely physical grounds--he was appreciably shorter than Remus, and not exactly muscular. Besides, Peter was too nice. He'd never hurt a fly. Well...if the fly were from Slytherin, maybe. But not one of his three best friends.
And he couldn't imagine Sirius hurting Remus. Not voluntarily. Sirius would cut off his own head before doing that.
Remus is in the infirmary a lot, though. The Fat Lady said that much. Something has to be putting him there. And it's not likely to be germs. He wouldn't be going to school here if he were coming down with dragon pox every month or so. Anyway, wizards don't become sick or get hurt that often. Even at St Mungo's, most of the patients are there because of accidents, or serious bites, or curses.
It just didn't add up.
Trying to put the matter out of his mind, Regulus sat down on his bed and started leafing through his homework. A twelve-inch essay on grindylows for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Well, that wasn't due till Monday. He could wait a day or two before starting that. For Divination, making ten predictions about the future of your assigned study partner utilising cards, runes, palmistry, oneiromancy or stichomancy, then interpreting them. It, too, was due on Monday, but he put that in the "to be started tonight" pile; interpretations of predictions tended to take him a while. Two feet of parchment on the Goblin Wars for Professor Binns. Yuck. Fortunately, that wasn't due till next Wednesday. For Astronomy, use of the lunar and stellar chart that he'd drawn up on Wednesday to calculate the phases of the moon for the next month, as well as its influence on people, magical plants, magical animals and Dark Creatures. Due tomorrow. Blast.
Wait.
Phases of the moon...?
He shows up once a month looking battered and exhausted...
He wasn't in the dormitory last night. And he went straight to the Infirmary the next morning.
And last night was the full moon.
And the influence of the moon on Dark Creatures...
It can't be. Even Dumbledore wouldn't be this liberal.
You're jumping to conclusions, Reg, he told himself. You don't have any proof. Keep a close eye on him till the next full moon. And see what happens then.
***
Friday, 7 January 1977 to Friday, 4 February 1977
The next lunar month was a long and arduous one for Regulus. He discovered beyond question that he was not suited to be Regulus Black, Master Detective. He did not enjoy checking Remus' health against the phases of the moon. Nor did he like what he noticed: that Remus seemed both healthier and calmer when the moon was waning, and that he grew paler, tenser and more agitated as it waxed toward full.
Regulus perceived other things, too, on seemingly casual visits to the room that his brother and his brother's friends shared. For example, no silver items. It was fairly common for a well-off family to give a young wizard or witch a silver mirror for Divination practice, a silver basin for distilling plants whose powers were enhanced by moonlight or a silver knife for cutting up certain potions' ingredients. Remus and Peter not having such things was logical--Remus' family was poor (not to mention Scottish, and therefore thrifty by definition), and Peter--well, a widow who baked for a living wasn't going to splurge on accoutrements of silver, even for a beloved only son. But James...the Potters had plenty of money. They could afford such things. And he knew that Sirius had once possessed a silver knife and a silver set of scales--both had been heirlooms, and both had been given to him before he had been Sorted into Gryffindor. They had vanished, abruptly, when Sirius was in third year. Sirius had claimed that he'd lost them. He hadn't been able to satisfy their mother as to how he could lose something kept in his dorm room that he'd heretofore kept under an unbreakable Locking Charm.
Regulus also noticed that Remus ate considerably more chocolate in late January and early February, as the moon turned inexorably toward full once more. A careful perusal of the Hogwarts library told him why--chocolate contained chemicals that reduced anxiety and diminished sensitivity to pain. It was more medicine than candy.
Above all, he tried repeatedly to reassure his conscience that he was not doing anything wrong.
/You're spying on him./
No, I'm not. I'm trying to find out why he keeps getting hurt. I promised not to let anyone Sirius cares about be hurt.
/This isn't about that promise anymore. You just want to know if he really is...you know./
He can't be!
/Why not?/
Werewolves don't go to wizarding schools!
/Hogwarts isn't a normal wizarding school. And Dumbledore isn't a typical headmaster./
No, but...it's far more likely that he's being beat up.
/Every month at the full moon? And he puts up with it?/
S & M, maybe?
/Oh, come on. Who do you think his partner is? You've seen him and Sirius together. They make each other happy. Neither one would tolerate an open relationship./
Sirius can be a bully sometimes, though.
/Sirius doesn't take pleasure from pain./
There isn't any solid proof.
/There is, however, quite a lot of circumstantial evidence./
It's still not proof.
/The only way you could get absolute proof would be if he transformed in front of you. And you might not survive that. Face it--the only evidence you'll have will be circumstantial. And what are you going to do when you know for certain what he is?/
It was a month of many, many sleepless nights.
Finally, the fourth of February arrived. The night of the full moon.
Regulus planned carefully for this day. He rested after classes were over. He ate lightly that evening, and, pleading a sickish feeling in his stomach (which was no more than the truth), went to bed early.
When he bid his brother good night, he was far from surprised to learn that Remus, too, had felt unwell, and that he had reported to the Infirmary after dinner.
Footsteps heading downstairs woke Regulus around midnight. But he saw nothing...not even shadows moving outside the door of his dorm. And he heard no voices...only the footsteps fading as they thumped downstairs with all of the grace of elephants on tiptoe.
Regulus waited for what felt like an hour, hoping against hope that he would receive some clue as to what was going on.
Nothing. It was maddening.
I want to know, damn it, Regulus thought, punching his pillow ferociously. I spent enough time trying to figure it out. Now I want to know.
Still nothing.
Fine. Just...fine.
Regulus scowled and turned over in bed, trying to convince himself that he was not the least bit disappointed and was too tired to care much, anyway.
Then he heard it.
The howl.
For a moment, Regulus lay frozen in bed, half-afraid he'd imagined it and half-afraid he hadn't.
The howl resounded again. This time it seemed to be headed toward the Forbidden Forest.
"Will someone shut that dog up?" muttered one of the other third-years, pulling his pillow over his head and rolling over.
It wasn't a dog, thought Regulus, the blood congealing in his veins.
The harmonics had been all wrong. It hadn't sounded like a tame dog. It didn't even sound like a starving and savage Crup. The owner of that voice had never seen any advantage to being tamed by a human, and had never slept by a fire. It was a million years from thinking of such absurdities.
Regulus could feel his primitive ancestors whispering what the howl meant. The beast was singing of hunger, blood, the hunt and the pack. The cry was as cold, as austerely beautiful and as alien as the stars.
And yet, in the middle of the howl, the voice had twisted, just for a moment, into an all-too-human cry of despair, and a shriek of pain.
There was only one thing left to do. One thing left to check.
Regulus rolled onto his side, swivelled his hips over the side of the bed, gripped one of the posts of his four-poster bed and pulled himself into a sitting position, then, bracing himself with his cane, stood up.
Barefoot, he padded downstairs, struggling not to wake anyone in the process. It would be rather hard to explain why he had to check out the infirmary in the middle of the night.
He was in luck. The Fat Lady was dozing, and whoever or whatever had crept downstairs earlier (and was it really so hard to guess those three names?) had left the portrait slightly ajar so that they could slip back in with ease, hopefully unnoticed. Carefully, cautiously, he did the same thing.
Three flights down, and a long careful trek it was, too. But at last Regulus found himself outside the doors of the Hogwarts Infirmary, peering into the darkened ward.
Not a soul inside. Every bed was empty.
No chance that Remus had gone to the loo, either. The beds were firm and smooth enough to bounce a Sickle off of. There wasn't a tangled bed sheet or wrinkled blanket to be seen. Remus clearly had not been here tonight. But Regulus was willing to bet that he would be there by tomorrow morning.
He hastened back to Gryffindor as swiftly and as silently as he could manage. The Fat Lady was still asleep, and the portrait was still ajar. Regulus slipped back into the Gryffindor common room without incident. Rummaging about for a few moments, he found a more-or-less clean sheet of parchment and a spare quill. Using the quill, he scribbled a terse message on the parchment, waited for the ink to dry, folded the parchment in half and then crept back to bed.
He stared silently into the darkness for the remainder of the night, clutching the parchment as if it were a talisman that could protect him until the sun rose.
***
Saturday, 5 February 1977
At eight o'clock the next morning, Regulus walked into the infirmary, then hastened over to the exhausted form curled up on the bed by the far wall.
"Hello, Regulus," said Remus, sounding more than a little tired, and looking at Regulus, clearly wondering why he was there.
"Hello, Remus." Regulus scuffed his shoe against the flagstone floor. "Could I ask you a question?"
"Of course." Remus stared at Regulus, puzzled. "But if it's about Sirius and me, maybe you should wait till he's here."
"It's not about you and Sirius...exactly. It's something else."
Remus quirked a quizzical eyebrow at Regulus. "I don't see why not."
Regulus pulled a piece of parchment from his robes and handed it to Remus.
"This is your question, I presume," Remus said wryly. "You could just ask me out loud, you know. People do that on occasion."
"I don't think you want anyone to overhear this question," Regulus retorted. "And I haven't learned Silencing Charms yet."
Remus glanced down on the parchment, then stiffened as he read the words:
REMUS, PLEASE TELL ME--ARE YOU A WEREWOLF?
Remus glared at the parchment, then at the younger boy. "You wouldn't have given me that note unless you were sure."
"I take it," said Regulus in a strained voice, "that this means that the answer is yes."
Remus nodded and bowed his head.
Regulus exhaled noisily, then sat down swiftly on Remus' bed. He glanced over at the older boy. "I have a few more questions...if that's all right."
Remus looked nothing so much as perplexed. "Shouldn't you be panicking about now? Or cursing me for lying to you? Or rummaging about in your pockets for something silver?"
Regulus frowned. "It's funny, but I don't feel like panicking. And you didn't lie to me--you were honest, though you didn't have to be. And I'm not carrying anything silver. Not that I'd insult you by carrying a-a silver spoon in my pocket, anyway." He swallowed violently. "D-does Sirius know?"
"Yes," said Remus quietly. "He knows. He's known since he was...oh, your age."
"You told him, then. Good."
Remus shook his head. "No," he said, his cheeks flushing slightly. "He, James and Peter figured it out." He glanced at Regulus and half-smiled. "If you want the truth, you were a lot quicker on the uptake than they were. You've only been in Gryffindor for a month. They'd been in the House for three years."
Regulus frowned, wrinkling his forehead in the process. "So you were a...when you came to Hogwarts?"
"Werewolf, Reg. You can say the word. No one's around except for Madam Pomfrey, and it certainly wouldn't surprise her. And yes, I was already a werewolf when I came here. I was bitten when I was five. Well, nearly six."
"Six!" Regulus gaped indignantly at Remus. "That's not fair."
"No, I suppose not," said Remus calmly. "The thing is, though, I don't remember not being a werewolf. I've been what I am for so long that I'm rather used to it now."
Regulus studied his face for a long time before pronouncing the verdict. "Rot," he said. "You have to remember what it was like the first time you changed, because it was all new. You wouldn't have known what to expect."
Remus shivered, and closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Regulus said, sounding contrite. "I didn't mean to bring it all back."
"It was--" Remus shuddered again. "You're right, of course. I never have forgotten. I hadn't been back from St. Mungo's for long, and I was just glad to be home. I suppose the Healers told me what I was, but I didn't understand. All I remember is that I was playing on the carpet when my dad stood up, put his hand on my shoulder and told me to come with him. Mum was standing behind him. She was crying." Remus opened his eyes once more, staring at something beyond the Infirmary. "I remember hugging her and telling her not to cry, that it would be all right. That only made her cry harder.
"Anyway," continued Remus in a lost, far-off voice, "they both walked me to a shed out in the garden. And they made me strip down to the bare skin. I didn't understand--I thought I was going to be spanked or something. I thought I must have done something truly horrible. But that was nothing to how I felt when my parents picked up the clothes, and hugged and kissed me, telling me that they'd see me in the morning...and then walked out of the shed...and locked the door."
Remus paused, then drew a long, shaky breath.
"It was so dark in the shed," he whispered. "So dark. Just enough light to make shadows. Just enough wind to make moving shadows. I was convinced that there were monsters in the shadows, that the shadows were monsters, that I was about to be devoured alive by a piece of living darkness and that no one would ever see me alive again." His mouth twisted bitterly. "I was more accurate than I knew."
"What happened?" asked Regulus in a low voice.
Remus looked at him for the first time in ages. "I started to change. It was--can you imagine molten lead filling your bones, melting them down and re-casting them at the same time? Your spine shifting and extending part of itself into a tail? Hearing your skull crack and re-form itself? Can you imagine enduring this and not knowing what was happening to you? Can you imagine screaming and wondering why your parents don't come and save you?
"And then...when the change was complete..." Remus bit his lip, paused for a moment, then continued. "My parents were outside the shed. I didn't know they were my parents, of course. The wolf was in charge by then, not me. And the wolf smelled..."
"Prey?" suggested Regulus gently in the silence that followed. "Meat?"
Remus nodded, breathing slowly in and out as he fought for control.
"You didn't do anything, though. I've heard Sirius talk about your parents." Regulus smiled a trifle sadly. "I think he'd like to trade in ours for yours, actually. But he couldn't be envying you your parents if you'd hurt them--or killed them."
"I could have, though." Remus' voice was the barest whisper. "Or...the wolf could."
"And I could have killed Sirius this Christmas," said Regulus steadily. "I came much closer to murder than you did. And I don't have extenuating circumstances, like lycanthropy. I knew what I was doing. The wolf didn't. If it weren't for James..." He shook his head slightly, trying to clear it. "The point is you didn't hurt them. And even if you had, it wouldn't have been you who wanted to hurt them. Not the human you."
"Considering how your family feels about blood purity, I'm surprised you'd even refer to me as human," Remus replied in an even tone. "I'm a halfblood, I'm gay and I'm a werewolf. I rather doubt whether I'm a person in their eyes." Or yours, his brown eyes added.
Regulus scowled. "I'm not my family."
Remus waved his words aside. "No, of course not. But..." He allowed the word to trail away into nothingness, followed by a thousand unvoiced innuendoes.
There was an awkward silence.
"What's the worst bit?" Reg asked after a time, carefully not looking at Remus as he spoke. "Besides changing, I mean. That sounds nightmarish."
Remus was silent for so long that Reg thought he had drifted off to sleep. "I think...the way people react."
"Such as?" prompted Regulus.
"Well...there are a lot of stories about werewolves. You must have heard them."
"Dark Creatures, ravening beasts, evil incarnate, always hungry for human flesh," recited Regulus in a singsong voice. "I've heard them, yes. Most recently in my Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook. And from Professor Leverett, of course."
"You don't sound like you believe it."
"I don't." Regulus said, surprising himself.
"Why not?" Remus' voice was very patient.
"Well--I know you. I know that werewolves are officially described as Dark Creatures, but I don't think I've ever seen you ravening for anything except good books and Chocolate Frogs. And as far as being hungry for human flesh goes..." He surveyed Remus for a moment. Sirius would say he was just as hungry for your flesh, he thought.
Remus seemed to hear what he couldn't bring himself to say, for the corners of his mouth quirked up in a tired smile. "But that's because you know me. Now picture someone who's never met a werewolf who has heard all those stories and believes them implicitly."
Regulus winced.
"A lot of people think that lycanthropy is easy to catch," Remus continued, gazing up at the ceiling. "That I can pass on the disease if I shake hands or bump into someone or even breathe the same air." He glanced at Regulus. "It isn't that easy, you know. Lycanthropy can only be passed on by a transformed werewolf--and only if the werewolf bites the human hard enough to draw blood."
"I wish you'd stop talking about werewolves and humans as if they were two different things," Regulus said with irritation.
"But they are different, Regulus," said Remus in that same flat, patient tone. "You've had enough Defence Against the Dark Arts classes to know that. The Ministry classifies us as part-humans, like vampires. Most wizards, though...we're animals to them. Nonhuman. And, as you said, evil. I remember the first time that I went to the Werewolf Registry. My dad brought me. There was this woman there--well, I say 'woman,' but she looked like a toad in a pink cardigan, actually--and she told my father that it would have been better if I'd died, and suggested that I should be put down. Like a rabid dog."
Regulus unconsciously clenched his fists. "That's awful."
Remus sighed. "It says something that that's the worst thing I recall about the Werewolf Registry. You'd think that at six the tattooing would have bothered me more, but no, it was that woman, insulting me and hurting my dad."
Regulus frowned. "Tattooing? I thought that there was just a list of names and addresses of registered werewolves."
"There is a roster," Remus explained, "but that's not all. The Ministry of Magic has to have some way of identifying registered werewolves. And they don't want us to be able to pass as human. So they do this." With that, he bent forward and flipped up the longish brown hair at the back of his neck.
Regulus stared in disbelief at the tattoo. No words, just a jumble of letters and numbers. It read: LLRJ WRS 6-193.
"'Lycanthrope. Lupin, Remus J.,' " Remus recited in a muffled voice. " 'Wester Ross, Scotland--that's the location where I was bitten. Aged six at time of registry. One hundred and ninety-third registered werewolf since creation of Werewolf Registry.' That's what it means."
Without thinking about it, Regulus reached out and smoothed Remus' hair back down over the tattoo. "I'm sorry, " he said softly.
"Unless you're the one who bit me, I don't think you have to apologise." Remus rolled over on his side and gazed up at the younger boy. "So. Now you know. What are you going to do?"
"Do?" Regulus echoed, feeling confused. He'd planned to ask Remus what he was. Everything after that had been off the cuff.
Then he understood. "You don't have to worry," he said pleadingly. "I won't tell anyone. No one who doesn't already know. I swear by--" He broke off, unable to think of a vow that was strong enough.
"Not even your housemates?" Remus inquired diffidently.
"The Gryffindors--the other Gryffindors--don't like me much yet."
"But a story like this would really attract their attention. I'm sure it would fascinate them, actually."
"Stop." The word was almost a groan. "Remus, would you please stop? I'm not going to tell anyone. I'm not going to spread rumours about you. I'm not going to do anything, all right?"
"Why not?" Remus demanded as he glared at Regulus. "I can't very well make love to Sirius if parents and trustees start panicking about the possible danger I might pose to other students and begin clamouring for my expulsion. It's the perfect way to get me away from your brother. Why the hell wouldn't you use it?"
"Because it would hurt Sirius!" Regulus shouted. "And," he added in a wondering tone, "hurting Sirius would hurt you. Badly. I don't want to hurt you. You've been hurt enough. And it's not fair."
"And is it so important," Remus asked after a long pause, "not to hurt Sirius?"
"Yes." Regulus put his entire soul into the word, praying that Remus would hear how much he meant it.
"Why?
Regulus stared at the blankets. "You make him happy," he said at last, knowing the words were hopelessly inadequate. "I don't think anyone in the world matters to him as much as you."
"There's James."
Regulus shook his head. "James is his brother. It's not the same. At least," he added as a truly horrible thought occurred to him, "I hope it's not."
Remus smiled. "No. Definitely not the same." He hesitated for a moment. "Your brother's happiness means that much to you? So much that you'd tolerate his having sex with...not a man...a werewolf?"
"You're a man," said Regulus, feeling confused.
"No," Remus corrected with eerie calm. "I'm male, yes. But I am not a man. I'm not human, Regulus. I haven't been human since I was six years old."
The blunt words struck Regulus like cudgels of iron.
He began to shake. He couldn't help it.
He couldn't think of Remus as a monster. Cursed since childhood, yes, but not a monster. He was a halfblood, of course, but that wasn't Remus' fault--no one got to pick their parents. Anyway, the Lupins were, according to Sirius, pure heaven, whatever their bloodlines.
Remus being homosexual...all right. That was harder for Regulus to wrap his mind around.
He makes my brother happy, though. And it isn't just the sex that makes him happy, either.
But...not human.
By Remus' own admission, not human.
And there was no way around it. He could forgive the bloodlines, tolerate the homosexuality, and deny that Lupin was a monster by nature--but he couldn't pretend that a werewolf was a human being.
He stole a glance at Remus, who was now lying down and staring at Regulus, his brown eyes filled with sick despair.
Sick. Yes, that was the right word. Sick unto death and abandoned by all.
Regulus could hear his mother screaming at Remus in his mind.
Filth! Scum! Spawn of corruption! Twisted, depraved, debauched halfblood mutant freak...!
Shut up, Regulus ordered that hated, familiar voice.
And you! Blood traitor! Abomination! Shame of my flesh, worse than your foul brother ever was! You dare even consider accepting this--this thing? A savage beast disguised as a man? Have you forgotten what humanity IS?
Humanity. Regulus weighed the word, then, almost without thinking, compared it to his mother.
Then to Rodolphus.
Lucius.
Bellatrix.
Purebloods, all. Purely human. At least from a genetic standpoint.
Not as human as Will and Elizabeth Potter, though. The Potters, who had taken in him and his brother, fed them, kept them warm, got them medical treatment. And who were even now embroiled in a custody fight on his behalf.
Both the Blacks and the Potters were purebloods. But the Potters were human. Or humane.
Was there a difference?
Remus had been humane to him, even when he was in Slytherin. He'd always behaved as if Regulus was a better person than the one that the Slytherins demanded that he be. He'd been kind to Regulus, even friendly.
We were friends. Once.
He trusted me with his worst secrets, he thought. He told me the truth, though he knew it could cost him everything.
The Blacks versus the Potters and Remus. There was no question about who was more human.
He looked up and locked eyes with Remus Lupin. "Sorry," he said softly. "I had to settle an argument with my mother."
Remus glanced at him briefly, then looked away. "Who won?"
"You. I mean, me." Regulus took a deep breath. "I decided that a human being is a human being when he acts like one. Like you do."
Remus' face was very still. "Do you mean it? Or are you just saying it?"
A lot of people think that lycanthropy is easy to catch, Regulus heard Remus saying again. That I can pass on the disease if I shake hands or bump into someone or even breathe the same air.
"Want to shake on it?" Regulus offered his right hand.
Remus understood--Regulus could see that in his expression. He could also see that Remus was afraid to believe it, for he was shaking his head firmly. "You don't have to do that."
"I know I don't have to," said Regulus patiently. "I want to."
"You don't have to prove anything to me--"
"Merlin's beard, Remus, are you this stubborn with your other friends?"
Remus, inhaling sharply, stared at Regulus with such intensity that Regulus could almost see the wolf peering out of Remus' eyes. When he spoke, however, his voice was quiet and almost emotionless, only trembling a fraction at the end. "Friendship...isn't a word to be casual about."
Regulus knew that if he'd been thinking, he never would have blurted that out. However he felt about Remus--and he liked Remus a great deal--there was no question that they still had issues. Huge ones. The sensible thing to do would have been to wait until both of them had gotten past those issues, at least to a degree.
Too late now. He'd already told the truth.
And, he realised, he wasn't sorry.
He looked at Remus and tried to answer.
"I haven't got so many friends that I can afford to be casual about the word." Regulus swallowed as he forced himself to admit the next bit. "I know I'm not much. I'm a lot younger than you. And I've done some really--monstrous--things. But I'll be your friend. If you don't mind. If you want me to be."
Remus looked a question at him. Is this some form of rebellion on your part? Are you doing this to cock a snoot at your parents? Does befriending a werewolf seem novel or exotic or cool to you? If that's the reason--
Regulus tried to pour his whole answer into a look of his own. No. That's not it.
Unaccountably, he thought of Snape. I never thought I'd meet anyone who was more alone than Snape. Till now.
What must it be like, he thought, to be a creature the entire wizarding world hates? To be despised and rejected because of a disease that you never wanted and couldn't cure? To be feared because of what you might do? To be no more than a licensed animal in the eyes of almost everyone you meet? An animal that many think should be killed for the sake of society--or a wild beast to be hunted and slain, your skin or head treated as a trophy by your killer?
"I don't want your head, your pelt or your friendship as a trophy," he said abruptly. "I wasn't looking for a prize to put on the mantelpiece when I started digging. I thought you were being abused."
To his surprise, Remus chuckled at that. "That's what Sirius thought at first. You two are amazingly alike at times. And not just in looks." The laughter died, and his expression grew solemn. "But Reg, if this has anything to do with wanting a werewolf as a friend..."
"I don't want you for a friend because you're a werewolf!" Regulus snapped. "I want you as a friend because you're Remus. We were friends, once. I--I miss that." He bit his lower lip. "Can we try, anyway?"
Remus contemplated the ceiling for several minutes in silence. "It won't be easy," he said at last.
Regulus wasn't sure what Remus meant--getting past their problems or being friends at all. Either way, it was true. "I know," he said quietly.
"Then"-- A lean callused hand reached out and shook Regulus' own. "Yes."
Regulus was unsure of what to say. Thank you sounded pathetic. And inadequate.
He settled for a smile.
***