FIC: Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures, Chapter 5 / 21, part two (PG-13)
Title: Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures, Chapter Five: Controlling the Beast, part two
Author: PaulaMcG
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: (subtly, eventually) Remus/Sirius
Era and universe: Summer and autumn 1996, an alternative world after OotP
Chapter summary: Remus prepares himself for facing the full moon with help from some friends.
Word count: around 5990
Disclaimer: Remus won't help me make any money.
Notes: EDITED on the 1st of February 2010. I’m happy to declare that this 21-chapter novel can now be regarded as completed (while I’m planning to still polish the final scenes with my beta ishonn by the end of February). Thanks to invaluable feedback from my f-list, particularly kellychambliss’s excellent nit-picking, I’ve mananged to fix some mistakes and to make other improvements also in this chapter, which I posted here f-locked in October. Here you can meet Remus again in current interaction with various characters.
Chapter One can be found here, Chapter Two here, Chapter Three here and here, Chapter Four here and first half of Chapter Five here.
Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures
Chapter Five: Controlling the Beast
continues
“Remus! Your friends will be so happy…” Miss Emeline turned around at her desk as soon as Remus had entered the healers’ office on the fourth floor and hardly started greeting her.
“I need to talk to you first, please. That’s why I came here today. I have to confess that this time I am… completely selfish.”
Frowning, she stood up, and she stepped quickly to him and without a word took his hand naturally like a child’s. She led him to the end of the corridor where there was a cozy area with couches and armchairs. When they were sitting on a couch hand in hand, she gazed into his eyes intently and only by nodding, encouraged him to talk.
He closed his eyes but, startled by his mental images, opened them again, and looked away, instead, while saying, “I finally saw it. How I was… bitten. It came to my dream last night.”
He felt her squeeze his hand and turned his eyes to see hers fill with tears. She seemed to hesitate before replying, “So you want to tell me about it.”
“No! I’m not that selfish. If I feel I need to describe it to someone, I’ll choose someone who doesn’t care so much. For you it’s been hard enough to remember having seen me… I mean, you saw me right after the assault. Now I can imagine what I looked like then. When I regained consciousness, you had already closed the wounds. Of course, I still had the scars. They are still visible…”
Miss Emeline had thrown her head backwards and she now shook it, as if to drive the image away. “I can still see it in my mind. I was so young. I had just started on the ward and had not seen much. And my first own patient had to be a child in such a condition! I was afraid you would die. I’ll always have it like a scar in my memory. But I’m afraid you’ve had it as an open wound hidden beyond your conscious mind. Maybe I made a mistake not trying to help you become aware of it and deal with it earlier. But perhaps your subconscious released it now, because now you are ready to receive it.”
“Am I? What released the old memory was a nightmare about what happened four weeks ago.” Remus heard a mixture of bitterness and despair in his own voice.
Miss Emeline shuddered but now replied quickly, “Do you want to tell me about that?”
“No, and I wouldn’t be able to, even if I wanted. I don’t know what happened. I’m afraid I did something… In the presence of a pack of werewolves I lost the control of my mind. I may have… damned myself…” He could not force himself to say more but stared at her, pleading for a verdict.
She returned his stare and pronounced clearly and firmly, “You have not. I can see it in you. Don’t doubt yourself. Are you sure you don’t want to tell me the details of either memory? Please feel free to share them with me.”
“No, I won’t tell you. I’m already sorry I made you think about that child… I just came to say that I need you now. I need you to give me strength to face it tomorrow night again.”
“I’m happy you had the courage to ask for this,” Miss Emeline said slowly while lifting her hands onto his temples. “Since I have the gift of turning anguish into blessing, I want you to remember this: if you ever feel that the strength I’m able to give you is not enough, you must not save me from the details any longer.”
He was washed by a wave of serenity. When opening his eyes he felt as if a sister had woken him up to play on another carefree summer morning.
Miss Emeline smiled to him and said, “I’ve got a surprise for you. I don’t know if you’d like us to do it now, but I’ve got a permission to take Frank and Alice to an outing for a couple of hours.”
He smiled back and stood up and pulled her with him to the corridor.”Yes, now is exactly when I want us to do that.”
The four of them all walked arm in arm, nearly blocking narrow Diagon Alley. Alice’s white hair was almost flying, if not bouncing like in the old days, as she kept turning her head quickly so as to see all the exciting things around her, and still to look at Remus’s face, when he named to her everything she pointed at. Remus took a moment to glance at Frank to see that he was actually smiling. And Miss Emeline began to name those shops and items that Frank looked at, although he still did not show a will to share - or an understanding of the possibility of sharing - the contents of his mind with anyone.
When they had stopped in front of the window of the Quality Quidditch Supplies, Remus asked Miss Emeline to switch places in the row they walked in. He wanted to follow Frank’s reactions more closely. He always found it more difficult to approach Frank than Alice and wondered if he should lay the blame on himself, too, and not only on Frank’s more severe autistic type of condition.
But at that moment Alice let go Remus’s arm and darted towards a man double the size of any other on the alley. She giggled while putting her arms around Hagrid’s waist. With the frail woman attached on him, the Hogwarts gamekeeper and teacher of the care of magical creatures reeled towards the rest of the company and bent to greet each of them with hearty and heavy slaps on their shoulders. He probably meant to pronounce some polite words as well, but his voice was stifled by a clear effort not to cry. Alice stared at what could be seen of his face among the hair and beard and stood on tiptoe to reach up and wipe his cheeks. That made Hagrid shed some more tears, but he forced a grin onto his face and managed to speak up. “What yer doin’ down here?”
Remus had recently met Hagrid only a couple of times at the headquarters. Since his return from another trip with his fiancée Madame Maxime only after Harry’s birthday, Hagrid had spent most of his time in the Forbidden Forest of Hogwarts in the company of his big little brother and other creatures. When seeing Remus he had been eager to compare the missions among the giants and the werewolves, but Remus had not been willing to go through any details concerning his tour, after having fulfilled the obligation of reporting to Dumbledore. He had, in fact, not mentioned the nature of the difficulties at the end of it to anyone at all, but now he realised that Dumbledore probably knew anyway.
As these thoughts came to his mind now, Remus was astonished to notice that he had actually gained some strength to face his memories. Relieved, he smiled to Hagrid and invited him to join them to visit the pet shop, where they had been heading for. Hagrid remarked mysteriously that he had, in fact, just been thinking where he could find information on a very special creature, which did not seem to be mentioned in any of the books that Flourish and Blotts had for sale.
Remus had thought that Frank and Alice would enjoy seeing all those somehow cute creatures sold as pets. The shop had now been named The Best of Magical Pets, and Remus took pride in its neat and shiny looks.
While Hagrid engaged the shopkeeper in a conversation in hushed voices, Miss Emeline tried her best to follow Alice, and Remus accompanied Frank to admire the creatures. The shop was full of customers, and Remus could not help smiling to himself when seeing a crowd in front of the wall painting and even hearing some expressions of amazement.
As if expecting Frank to at least think about answers, Remus was expressing his wonder about the rules of the game which some shiny black rats were playing, when he heard Miss Emeline call for Alice. He looked around to see where she could have gone.
And Alice was right there: sitting on the floor almost at his feet, her white head bent over something she seemed to be caressing. But he saw nothing on her lap.
“What is that?” Remus asked.
“It’s a wat.” The answer was given by Hagrid, who had apparently finished his business, as he was stuffing his moneybag, a roll of parchment and a tiny cage into his pockets. He stepped to Alice and knelt in front of her. “Yeh let me pat yer wat, too, Alice?”
“Patty wat!” Alice said, looking up and reaching out her hand towards Remus.
He kneeled down, too. “That’s a… what?” he asked again.
“Well, that’s what adults call it: a what. But really yeh gotta spell it w-a-t. Yeh pat it, too!”
Groping cautiously towards Alice’s lap, Remus touched soft silky fur and heard purring. “But it’s an invisible cat!”
“Right, a wat. A wat can go ter live with a Muggle kid, too, but the mum and dad don’ never know what it is… that there is a wat there at all.”
“I love cats.” Remus caressed the wat tenderly under its invisible chin, and this made it bend its head backward and purr more loudly. “And they usually have nothing against me either. Only cats treated exactly like humans - the way Mrs. Figg brought up hers - may learn to be afraid of me. In Greece I used to share meals with stray cats. But I never met a wat before. Or wait… maybe I did, when I was five or younger.”
Checking that Frank had not got lost in the crowd, Remus saw him also holding something that could not be seen. Miss Emeline had joined them, too, and Remus asked her in a low voice, “Do you think Frank and Alice could keep a wat at the hospital without anybody knowing? I suppose keeping pets is against the rules. I wonder how much they cost.”
Miss Emeline just nodded, smiling, but Hagrid strode to the counter and back to inform him, “They aren’ so expensive. Jus’ two Galleons for one.”
“I don’t know,” said Remus, fumbling about in his pockets. “Would you like to have a wat to share? I could buy one, if you promise to take good care of it.”
Alice only smiled and continued to caress hers, but Frank turned away pressing his tight against his chest. That was the strongest reaction to anything Remus had perceived in him in all these years.
“Yeh gotta have two. I buy one for Alice and Remus buys one for Frank, right?” said Hagrid. “An’ don’ worry that we can’ find wats if they get lost. They don’ get lost. They come to their own kid as long as the kid believes in them.”
After Remus and Hagrid had paid for the two wats, Hagrid must have suddenly remembered what he had heard about Remus’s painting. Having just glanced towards it over the crowd, he took Frank and Alice there and made them sit down and watch it. Remus followed Miss Emeline, not saying anything, but looking forward to their reactions.
Each of them apparently saw different things in the painting. Alice kept pointing, but Remus felt he could not venture to name anything for her. Himself he mainly preferred examining his friends’ faces. He was afraid to look at the painting. Even without looking at it, he kept seeing flashes of the scene with the moon.
“I liked the winter scene best,” said Hagrid when they finally got up to leave because Miss Emeline had pointed out it was time to return to the hospital. “That was a beau’iful wolf there.”
Miss Emeline replied thoughtfully, “Yes, it was moving violently and still it was peaceful: it just followed the owl’s hunting. It refused to catch prey, but it was friends with the bird of prey and did not reproach the bird with its natural ways. It was a strange creature, lonely without a pack of its own kind, and admirable.”
“But someone’s gotta feed him or he’ll starve.” Hagrid’s eyes looked wet again when he turned to stare at Remus with an expression of sudden insight.
However, Remus insisted on paying for his own lunch, even if it was Hagrid’s suggestion that they go to the Leaky Cauldron after accompanying the others to St. Mungo’s through the floo powder network. While Hagrid emptied a few pints of mead with his heavy meal and Remus contended himself with a bowl of soup, they had quite an open conversation. They even finally compared their experiences in encountering those creatures to whom they had been defined as belonging.
Hagrid had clearly had a harder time trying to communicate with the giants. Still, he and Madame Maxime had not given up after the almost disastrous failure a year earlier. They had managed to give to several influential individuals the simple idea that Dumbledore was a good guy, but nobody could know how long those particular giants would stay as leaders or even alive because of the unstable nature of the giant communities and because of the Death Eaters’ quest for allies.
Voldemort had evidently got a lot of new young witches and wizards to his side so as to more than compensate for a few servants having been imprisoned. Hagrid had spied on several wizards in the giant region. Remus had also made careful notes concerning any visitors in the werewolf communities, and suspiciously enough he had not been introduced to any, and all the information had been rumours among others than those in high positions. But Hagrid would now be able to recognise some of Voldemort’s servants. Dumbledore had asked him to move more around among people in London, but he confessed to Remus that he preferred the forest. “I don’ mean I want ter live like the giants. But it’s become more disturbin ter stand out too much. And I miss Olympe.”
While telling Hagrid about Jean - but not about the werewolves of Bykle - Remus considered if he could tell him about the old memory, too. No, of course he could not. Hagrid was probably the most sensitive person he knew, and the gigantic man’s tender heart would break, if he had to hear about the little boy’s suffering. But maybe exactly the reason why he could not confide in Hagrid comforted him. He had a friend who would cry more than he himself was able to.
Thus Remus realised that he was not absolutely lonely. He did have friends, and the best way to prepare himself for the night of the full moon was to interact with them openly until the time when it would be impossible. It even occurred to him that Hagrid would probably be strong enough to accompany him during his transformation. But no, when Remus was in that condition, it was too risky for him to encounter anyone without animal form.
After Hagrid had left for Hogwarts in the afternoon, Remus went home to fetch the field study on elves and continued to number twelve, Grimmauld Place to return the book to Hermione. He felt confident enough to speculate that his conversation with her might touch the topic of werewolves, too.
As Remus had guessed he would, he found Hermione in the drawing room studying a school book, while Harry and Ron were there playing wizard chess.
“He’s learning something about strategies in every game,” Ron said, when Remus expressed his concern about Harry being about to lose.
Remus looked at Harry with a sudden thought that Harry really needed a tutor to help him prepare himself instead of only waiting for the enemy’s next move. He realised that he had still not heard if Dumbledore had found a new teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Without a warning he felt tremendous anger at himself about having wasted precious time. Instead of acting with such delicacy towards Harry and perhaps mainly towards himself, and spending time on the art of painting, he should have taken the opportunity to now teach Harry whatever skills or knowledge or understanding of life he possessed which could be of use for the boy to stay alive and face his final responsibility. Soon Harry would be at Hogwarts, where even Dumbledore could not let Remus come because of the attitudes of the governors of the school. Instead of turning his anger at those influential pure-blood parents, he forced it to abate and said seriously, “Harry, if it suits you, I’d like to talk to you alone after a couple of days.”
Harry looked up in surprise and nodded, while moving a chessman and hardly paying attention to which one it was. As Ron immediately finished the game and started explaining how Harry could have beaten him, Remus approached Hermione, apologising in case he interrupted her badly.
“It’s all right. I’m happy you came early again. There’s almost too much time for me to spend on reading here. You see, we don’t think we should go out very often, because Harry can’t.” Hermione had lowered her voice, and she now glanced at the boys.
A wide smile spread on her face, perhaps triggered by Ron’s sincere enthusiasm in explaining strategies to Harry. Harry, on the contrary, looked clearly absentminded.
Remus caught Hermione’s eyes again, and she continued in a cheerful tone, “I’ve almost finished even the Numerology book. Now I’ve read through all the textbooks for this school year and written notes about them. You know, I’ve got rid of that habit of learning every detail by heart. Now I prefer writing down the relevant facts and my conclusions. When school starts, I’ll be able to concentrate on the classes and on the SPEW. But I renamed it SEE, to stand for Support Elves’ Empowerment.”
Placing the thick book on the desk, Remus laughed benevolently. “Perfect. It shows that you have studied social research. I first thought that more research should be made on the current conditions of the house-elves. But now after finishing this book I believe it’s time for action.”
Hermione’s face began to shine of excitement and she exclaimed, “Yes, you are absolutely right. The house-elves must just be made aware of the power they’ve already got in their ancient culture, so they can begin to influence their own lives and to develop the society.”
“Hermy, I can’t believe it! You can’t be serious trying to recruit Professor Lupin to that SPEW thing.”
Remus turned to Ron, who was faking an expression of being about to vomit. He hurried to answer before Hermione would show her offended feelings. “Ron, remember you promised to call me Remus. And Hermione doesn’t have to recruit me. I’m already a member, you see, and it’s now called SEE, because we support the elves to empower themselves, so they can improve both their lives and this society.”
“You are kidding.” Ron rolled his eyes. “Those whiny creatures dressed in pillowcases improve our society!”
Remus still smiled, but he was unable to completely balance his voice. “I suppose the point is not how they are dressed. The most powerful magic of the elves has been hidden for a long time. A part of it has been taken away from them. But there may well be something that the wizards have not been able to even imagine.”
Harry had been arranging the chessboard, but now he suddenly lifted his head. “Do you mean that magic of making images out of air?”
“Yes, that has been bought from them for a price far below its value. But what is hidden may include something more relevant in the…war, if that’s what you like to call it. But maybe we should hope that the wizards on both sides despise the elves too much to ever find out. I doubt those who are hungry for power care to read even this book or take the trouble to learn more.”
Remus had concentrated on suppressing his aggressive instincts, which were growing almost unbearably. Now he realised that he had probably unwisely made the boys even too much interested in the elves.
So as to lean forward, Harry had pushed the chessboard aside, causing some of the chessmen to fall screaming to the floor. “What do you mean? You hope the good side won’t know about this powerful magic either?”
“Is there a good side?” Remus said this quietly and he half wished he had changed the topic earlier. “Tomorrow I shan’t be here because of the full moon.”
All the three teenagers avoided his eyes and stayed quiet. Ron shuddered. Finally Harry glanced at Remus, who realised that he had never talked to them about his lycanthropy after that night when he had got Sirius back and almost killed Peter with him.
“Are you still getting that potion?” After posing his question Harry bit his lip.
“No, I haven’t got it at all after I left Hogwarts. But I shan’t harm anybody. I’ll be locked up.”
Hermione now stared at him with a hand over her mouth. “But how about you? Maybe it was all right last year when you had… I mean, you’ve said that if you are alone, you’ll harm yourself.”
“I can manage well, if I’ve got a companion who’s got an animal form. Harry, I actually hope that Hedwig will come to me tomorrow evening. But she won’t leave your room, if you are against it.”
That night Remus stayed awake on purpose. He feared the dreams he might have and preferred his controlled analysing to anything that might rise from his subconscious uninvited.
He tried his best not to be angry with himself about the need to worry that he might have participated in hurting any humans four weeks earlier. Miss Emeline must have been right. She would have seen it in him. He would have sensed it himself, too. And - although perhaps it was just his incurable credulity - he could not believe that those people, or especially that man, had done and made him do anything truly evil.
They must have just been chasing each other and wrestling in a friendly manner. And the blood which he had licked - if he had really done it and it was not just his dream - must have been the same as in the man’s hair, probably blood of the pig they had slaughtered to prepare the ointment.
But there was something here that had started to bother him more and more. He realised that he actually cherished a part of his memory.
He felt it had been worth going through - and he was willing to go through again - all the long nightmare of starving and freezing just to meet in the middle of it the man who would lift the bowl onto his dry lips and rub his skin warm. He had been too close to fainting to have even seen the face properly then, but now he could see it more and more clearly: the features so familiar, the sparkling eyes and the reckless smile.
Compared to the intensifying anger at himself about feeling something close to affection towards that man, it seemed quite bearable now to process the atmosphere and the details of the early memory. The little boy’s encounter with the beast had been beyond all the terror he could ever have imagined. Still, he was now - probably thanks to Miss Emeline’s influence - able to see the memory as a challenge or even as a treasure.
He had bought one small canvas and some oil paint a few days earlier with an intention to experiment on an abstract piece in colour but without any clear idea of what he wanted to express. Now he suddenly knew what to paint. He lit a magical light as similar to the daylight as possible and started working.
By dawn he had finished a harmonious composition of black and white shapes. There was a playful rhythm at the basis and a hopeful, dynamic, open structure above and on both sides. And he left some of his slowly rising aggression unsuppressed, and channelled it to destroy the harmony by splashing colour of blood in violent strokes all over the painting. Not the shade of fresh blood to appeal to his senses, but that of blood dried too long ago to be removed. The magic of this image was its absolute lack of movement.
He could not be completely satisfied with his work as a sample of abstract art. What the picture represented seemed too clear. But he felt happy about the process. And he went to sleep and had a dreamless rest until past noon.
Thus he woke up reconciled and confident. To finish preparing himself to have as much strength as possible, in order to stay alert through the following night, he still went out to have a proper meal, but not too far, so that he would not tire himself. He chose once again the near-by exotic fast food restaurant owned by an elderly wizard from Lebanon, who made delicious sandwiches of thin Arabic bread, salad and falafel. That was Remus’s favourite kind of food, vegetarian but nutritious and filling. He was running out of money again, but refused to worry about it now, as if this were a special day to celebrate and not the worst day of the month.
In the middle of the afternoon he started feeling the pain. Now it was time to go Mrs Porchead.
She eyed him keenly from under her peacock feather in the manner she had adopted a few weeks earlier. If she had not thought about the fact that it was the time of the full moon now, she did not seem too irritated to be reminded of the special clause in their rent contract. Remus was not sure if her gaze was a sign of her sincere concern about his health, or if she only meant to act in her own interest when checking that he continued to look well-nourished and fit for work.
“I hope it won’t consume too much of your strength this time,” she said.
“Thank you. I’ll be all right, and there will be no trouble, thanks to your service, too.”
“So you want to be locked in now?”
“Yes, please.”
Remus followed Mrs. Porchead to the cellar. She slid her fingers on a concrete wall, and an opening appeared on it, big enough for Remus to step through when he bent his head. She came after him into the hidden, empty room not much smaller than his own. The other, small opening, high on the outer wall, was just wide enough for an owl to enter, he caught himself thinking.
“This place has not been used for two months months,” the landlady said, walking around and checking the condition of the room, as if there were anything to check. She stepped back to the opening. “I’m sealing it now, or is there anything you need?”
“Water!” His voice was stifled by sudden urgency, but he tried to calm down. “I’m sorry. I should have thought of it and brought some.”
“No, it’s all right. I’ll be back soon.” She went out, leaving the wall unclosed.
Remus walked under the small window to feel a breeze on his face. He was alarmed by this new feeling of distress while preparing to let himself be confined to a room voluntarily. He had to reassure himself that there was nothing to worry about. He had spent enough nights in this room to know.
He had first rented a room from Mrs Porchead more than two years earlier. He had known this neighbourhood, not far from Sirius’s parents’ house, ever since he had left school and moved to London. After leaving his position as a teacher he had returned here to look for inexpensive accommodation and also in hope that Sirius could one day come back here from his hiding place in the south.
In the following summer his wish had been granted. And for a whole year they had lived together at Grimmauld Place. For Remus it had probably been the best year of his life, although he was and had been completely aware that it had been far worse for Sirius than what they had hoped for at the time when he had proved his innocence at least to some people. It cannot have been worse than Azkaban, but Sirius must have suffered from being practically imprisoned - and in that particular house, which represented everything he had protested against since his childhood.
And Remus had betrayed Dumbledore’s trust, agreeing to apparate once a month with Sirius to deserted places, where they could enjoy the full moon together. He had done it for Sirius but no less for himself.
After losing Sirius he had felt obliged to leave number twelve, Grimmauld Place immediately. He had no right to claim it as his home. His old room in Mrs Porchead’s building had still been available - and her magic ability was what he needed when he had no friend to accompany him at his transformation.
He was startled by a clink and a thud. Mrs Porchead had let down on the floor the things she had been levitating. There was a jug of water, and both a bowl and a glass, and a rolled rug.
She waved her hand to open the roll. “This is an old rug. It won’t matter if you happen to rip it into shreds.”
Remus became aware of a forceful instinct to protest aggressively, although her behaviour lately and at the moment prevented him from interpreting the words as an insult. He suppressed the reaction, smiling at this feat of his as well as at her acts and words. “You know I will try not to do that. You are very considerate. Thank you so much.”
She glanced at him briefly and turned to leave. “Well… good night.”
The last thing Remus saw, before the opening disappeared, was the steely light of her fingertips. He drank some water and poured some into the bowl, too. Then he sat down on the rug to wait.
The gnawing pain inside of him was stronger than he had remembered. Having prepared himself so well, he now had - unlike four weeks earlier - no other ailment to catch any part of his attention.
This was how it was meant to be. He was capable of concentrating on the pain, remembering that he would have to go through it again in the morning, and again month after month. This should have been enough to offer him a catharsis, purify his essence. But he knew it was not true. He would have to continue to live with the same doubts and with the risk of some day damning himself for eternity.
In this mental and physical torment it felt, surprisingly, like a relief to think of what he had remembered as an overwhelming anguish. Locked up in that hut, suffering from his wounds, thirst and hunger and cold, he had gradually lost the awareness of even the fear of what they would force him to do. His helpless state had, in any case, freed him from a big part of the responsibility.
It suddenly struck him that the werewolves of Bygle had perhaps meant to do good to him. By not taking care of him they had actually made this particular pain easier for him. They had dragged him with them by force, but he now realised that they had, in fact, not hit him or hurt him in any way anymore. Compared to the nervousness and the uncontrolled aggression which he had witnessed and been a victim of on the preceding days, all the events at that sunset had been harmonious. He had not seen any aggression among them either. In the end there had been nothing truly evil, or even violent, in the ritual.
Now he understood what the feared rituals might be about. The werewolves living in a community did not gather to worship dark forces so as to be allowed to join them and be evil. The meaning of the ritual was simply to ease the pain of the transformation: to allow them, as a collective, to help each other through it with solidarity. It was probable that none of them had become a werewolf voluntarily. And it was sure none of them had a choice not to transform. But they got together to help each other go through the pain. The chanting apparently even made it possible for them to control their aggression until the moment of the transformation. And the ointment seemed to momentarily offer a concrete relief, while in reality there was nothing a werewolf could do to avoid this tormenting pain.
Now the pain in his whole body suddenly intensified as in a rush of a wave and almost blinded his mind. He had allowed his concentration to relax for a moment, and he now felt a desperate need of a companion to help him control his mind.
That was what the werewolves of the community had done to each other. He had just been too weak to benefit from it fully. He had lost the control of his mind for a part of the night. But maybe none of the others had. They had spent the night in friendly wrestling and chasing each other. If he had returned the service to the man with the enthralling smell in his hair, maybe he would now know for sure that he had not hurt any human.
He had just enough time left for undressing, before the pain spread in convulsions into his limbs and he could control his body no longer. He clung to the thought of a friend having a contact with his mind. But the image of Hagrid’s face covered with tears kept fading, no matter how hard he struggled not to lose it.
For a moment he was able to wrap his arms around himself. Then he felt his claws scratch the skin of his upper arms, until his whole body was the body of a monstrous wolf. He lifted his head to cry out with agony and to hear it turn into a howl. His mind was suddenly dominated by a wish to hurt all those - including himself - who had stopped him from joining anybody to ease his pain. He still had the human sense to be aware of a conclusion that he would now lose the control of his mind. He would end up wounding himself all through the night.
At that moment he felt a current of air on his face. He was staring into a pair of big round amber eyes. The owl’s beak touched gently his snout, and he knew that he still had got his own warm amber eyes.
Remus the wolf and Hedwig the owl spent the night chasing each other around the room. Closer to the dawn the wolf curled up on the rug to wait, while the owl flew out to return with a mouse in her claws. The wolf watched her eat it and just drank some water. Then he curled up again to wait for the transformation. Soon his body twisted in pain, but she stayed close to his face, hooting quietly and staring into his eyes. When it was all over, she brought his robes in her peak and helped him get dressed.
Then the owl headed for home, leaving the man exhausted but unwounded and triumphant. Mrs Porchead would soon arrive to find her rug intact.
The first part of Chapter Six is here
Author: PaulaMcG
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: (subtly, eventually) Remus/Sirius
Era and universe: Summer and autumn 1996, an alternative world after OotP
Chapter summary: Remus prepares himself for facing the full moon with help from some friends.
Word count: around 5990
Disclaimer: Remus won't help me make any money.
Notes: EDITED on the 1st of February 2010. I’m happy to declare that this 21-chapter novel can now be regarded as completed (while I’m planning to still polish the final scenes with my beta ishonn by the end of February). Thanks to invaluable feedback from my f-list, particularly kellychambliss’s excellent nit-picking, I’ve mananged to fix some mistakes and to make other improvements also in this chapter, which I posted here f-locked in October. Here you can meet Remus again in current interaction with various characters.
Chapter One can be found here, Chapter Two here, Chapter Three here and here, Chapter Four here and first half of Chapter Five here.
Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures
Chapter Five: Controlling the Beast
continues
“Remus! Your friends will be so happy…” Miss Emeline turned around at her desk as soon as Remus had entered the healers’ office on the fourth floor and hardly started greeting her.
“I need to talk to you first, please. That’s why I came here today. I have to confess that this time I am… completely selfish.”
Frowning, she stood up, and she stepped quickly to him and without a word took his hand naturally like a child’s. She led him to the end of the corridor where there was a cozy area with couches and armchairs. When they were sitting on a couch hand in hand, she gazed into his eyes intently and only by nodding, encouraged him to talk.
He closed his eyes but, startled by his mental images, opened them again, and looked away, instead, while saying, “I finally saw it. How I was… bitten. It came to my dream last night.”
He felt her squeeze his hand and turned his eyes to see hers fill with tears. She seemed to hesitate before replying, “So you want to tell me about it.”
“No! I’m not that selfish. If I feel I need to describe it to someone, I’ll choose someone who doesn’t care so much. For you it’s been hard enough to remember having seen me… I mean, you saw me right after the assault. Now I can imagine what I looked like then. When I regained consciousness, you had already closed the wounds. Of course, I still had the scars. They are still visible…”
Miss Emeline had thrown her head backwards and she now shook it, as if to drive the image away. “I can still see it in my mind. I was so young. I had just started on the ward and had not seen much. And my first own patient had to be a child in such a condition! I was afraid you would die. I’ll always have it like a scar in my memory. But I’m afraid you’ve had it as an open wound hidden beyond your conscious mind. Maybe I made a mistake not trying to help you become aware of it and deal with it earlier. But perhaps your subconscious released it now, because now you are ready to receive it.”
“Am I? What released the old memory was a nightmare about what happened four weeks ago.” Remus heard a mixture of bitterness and despair in his own voice.
Miss Emeline shuddered but now replied quickly, “Do you want to tell me about that?”
“No, and I wouldn’t be able to, even if I wanted. I don’t know what happened. I’m afraid I did something… In the presence of a pack of werewolves I lost the control of my mind. I may have… damned myself…” He could not force himself to say more but stared at her, pleading for a verdict.
She returned his stare and pronounced clearly and firmly, “You have not. I can see it in you. Don’t doubt yourself. Are you sure you don’t want to tell me the details of either memory? Please feel free to share them with me.”
“No, I won’t tell you. I’m already sorry I made you think about that child… I just came to say that I need you now. I need you to give me strength to face it tomorrow night again.”
“I’m happy you had the courage to ask for this,” Miss Emeline said slowly while lifting her hands onto his temples. “Since I have the gift of turning anguish into blessing, I want you to remember this: if you ever feel that the strength I’m able to give you is not enough, you must not save me from the details any longer.”
He was washed by a wave of serenity. When opening his eyes he felt as if a sister had woken him up to play on another carefree summer morning.
Miss Emeline smiled to him and said, “I’ve got a surprise for you. I don’t know if you’d like us to do it now, but I’ve got a permission to take Frank and Alice to an outing for a couple of hours.”
He smiled back and stood up and pulled her with him to the corridor.”Yes, now is exactly when I want us to do that.”
The four of them all walked arm in arm, nearly blocking narrow Diagon Alley. Alice’s white hair was almost flying, if not bouncing like in the old days, as she kept turning her head quickly so as to see all the exciting things around her, and still to look at Remus’s face, when he named to her everything she pointed at. Remus took a moment to glance at Frank to see that he was actually smiling. And Miss Emeline began to name those shops and items that Frank looked at, although he still did not show a will to share - or an understanding of the possibility of sharing - the contents of his mind with anyone.
When they had stopped in front of the window of the Quality Quidditch Supplies, Remus asked Miss Emeline to switch places in the row they walked in. He wanted to follow Frank’s reactions more closely. He always found it more difficult to approach Frank than Alice and wondered if he should lay the blame on himself, too, and not only on Frank’s more severe autistic type of condition.
But at that moment Alice let go Remus’s arm and darted towards a man double the size of any other on the alley. She giggled while putting her arms around Hagrid’s waist. With the frail woman attached on him, the Hogwarts gamekeeper and teacher of the care of magical creatures reeled towards the rest of the company and bent to greet each of them with hearty and heavy slaps on their shoulders. He probably meant to pronounce some polite words as well, but his voice was stifled by a clear effort not to cry. Alice stared at what could be seen of his face among the hair and beard and stood on tiptoe to reach up and wipe his cheeks. That made Hagrid shed some more tears, but he forced a grin onto his face and managed to speak up. “What yer doin’ down here?”
Remus had recently met Hagrid only a couple of times at the headquarters. Since his return from another trip with his fiancée Madame Maxime only after Harry’s birthday, Hagrid had spent most of his time in the Forbidden Forest of Hogwarts in the company of his big little brother and other creatures. When seeing Remus he had been eager to compare the missions among the giants and the werewolves, but Remus had not been willing to go through any details concerning his tour, after having fulfilled the obligation of reporting to Dumbledore. He had, in fact, not mentioned the nature of the difficulties at the end of it to anyone at all, but now he realised that Dumbledore probably knew anyway.
As these thoughts came to his mind now, Remus was astonished to notice that he had actually gained some strength to face his memories. Relieved, he smiled to Hagrid and invited him to join them to visit the pet shop, where they had been heading for. Hagrid remarked mysteriously that he had, in fact, just been thinking where he could find information on a very special creature, which did not seem to be mentioned in any of the books that Flourish and Blotts had for sale.
Remus had thought that Frank and Alice would enjoy seeing all those somehow cute creatures sold as pets. The shop had now been named The Best of Magical Pets, and Remus took pride in its neat and shiny looks.
While Hagrid engaged the shopkeeper in a conversation in hushed voices, Miss Emeline tried her best to follow Alice, and Remus accompanied Frank to admire the creatures. The shop was full of customers, and Remus could not help smiling to himself when seeing a crowd in front of the wall painting and even hearing some expressions of amazement.
As if expecting Frank to at least think about answers, Remus was expressing his wonder about the rules of the game which some shiny black rats were playing, when he heard Miss Emeline call for Alice. He looked around to see where she could have gone.
And Alice was right there: sitting on the floor almost at his feet, her white head bent over something she seemed to be caressing. But he saw nothing on her lap.
“What is that?” Remus asked.
“It’s a wat.” The answer was given by Hagrid, who had apparently finished his business, as he was stuffing his moneybag, a roll of parchment and a tiny cage into his pockets. He stepped to Alice and knelt in front of her. “Yeh let me pat yer wat, too, Alice?”
“Patty wat!” Alice said, looking up and reaching out her hand towards Remus.
He kneeled down, too. “That’s a… what?” he asked again.
“Well, that’s what adults call it: a what. But really yeh gotta spell it w-a-t. Yeh pat it, too!”
Groping cautiously towards Alice’s lap, Remus touched soft silky fur and heard purring. “But it’s an invisible cat!”
“Right, a wat. A wat can go ter live with a Muggle kid, too, but the mum and dad don’ never know what it is… that there is a wat there at all.”
“I love cats.” Remus caressed the wat tenderly under its invisible chin, and this made it bend its head backward and purr more loudly. “And they usually have nothing against me either. Only cats treated exactly like humans - the way Mrs. Figg brought up hers - may learn to be afraid of me. In Greece I used to share meals with stray cats. But I never met a wat before. Or wait… maybe I did, when I was five or younger.”
Checking that Frank had not got lost in the crowd, Remus saw him also holding something that could not be seen. Miss Emeline had joined them, too, and Remus asked her in a low voice, “Do you think Frank and Alice could keep a wat at the hospital without anybody knowing? I suppose keeping pets is against the rules. I wonder how much they cost.”
Miss Emeline just nodded, smiling, but Hagrid strode to the counter and back to inform him, “They aren’ so expensive. Jus’ two Galleons for one.”
“I don’t know,” said Remus, fumbling about in his pockets. “Would you like to have a wat to share? I could buy one, if you promise to take good care of it.”
Alice only smiled and continued to caress hers, but Frank turned away pressing his tight against his chest. That was the strongest reaction to anything Remus had perceived in him in all these years.
“Yeh gotta have two. I buy one for Alice and Remus buys one for Frank, right?” said Hagrid. “An’ don’ worry that we can’ find wats if they get lost. They don’ get lost. They come to their own kid as long as the kid believes in them.”
After Remus and Hagrid had paid for the two wats, Hagrid must have suddenly remembered what he had heard about Remus’s painting. Having just glanced towards it over the crowd, he took Frank and Alice there and made them sit down and watch it. Remus followed Miss Emeline, not saying anything, but looking forward to their reactions.
Each of them apparently saw different things in the painting. Alice kept pointing, but Remus felt he could not venture to name anything for her. Himself he mainly preferred examining his friends’ faces. He was afraid to look at the painting. Even without looking at it, he kept seeing flashes of the scene with the moon.
“I liked the winter scene best,” said Hagrid when they finally got up to leave because Miss Emeline had pointed out it was time to return to the hospital. “That was a beau’iful wolf there.”
Miss Emeline replied thoughtfully, “Yes, it was moving violently and still it was peaceful: it just followed the owl’s hunting. It refused to catch prey, but it was friends with the bird of prey and did not reproach the bird with its natural ways. It was a strange creature, lonely without a pack of its own kind, and admirable.”
“But someone’s gotta feed him or he’ll starve.” Hagrid’s eyes looked wet again when he turned to stare at Remus with an expression of sudden insight.
However, Remus insisted on paying for his own lunch, even if it was Hagrid’s suggestion that they go to the Leaky Cauldron after accompanying the others to St. Mungo’s through the floo powder network. While Hagrid emptied a few pints of mead with his heavy meal and Remus contended himself with a bowl of soup, they had quite an open conversation. They even finally compared their experiences in encountering those creatures to whom they had been defined as belonging.
Hagrid had clearly had a harder time trying to communicate with the giants. Still, he and Madame Maxime had not given up after the almost disastrous failure a year earlier. They had managed to give to several influential individuals the simple idea that Dumbledore was a good guy, but nobody could know how long those particular giants would stay as leaders or even alive because of the unstable nature of the giant communities and because of the Death Eaters’ quest for allies.
Voldemort had evidently got a lot of new young witches and wizards to his side so as to more than compensate for a few servants having been imprisoned. Hagrid had spied on several wizards in the giant region. Remus had also made careful notes concerning any visitors in the werewolf communities, and suspiciously enough he had not been introduced to any, and all the information had been rumours among others than those in high positions. But Hagrid would now be able to recognise some of Voldemort’s servants. Dumbledore had asked him to move more around among people in London, but he confessed to Remus that he preferred the forest. “I don’ mean I want ter live like the giants. But it’s become more disturbin ter stand out too much. And I miss Olympe.”
While telling Hagrid about Jean - but not about the werewolves of Bykle - Remus considered if he could tell him about the old memory, too. No, of course he could not. Hagrid was probably the most sensitive person he knew, and the gigantic man’s tender heart would break, if he had to hear about the little boy’s suffering. But maybe exactly the reason why he could not confide in Hagrid comforted him. He had a friend who would cry more than he himself was able to.
Thus Remus realised that he was not absolutely lonely. He did have friends, and the best way to prepare himself for the night of the full moon was to interact with them openly until the time when it would be impossible. It even occurred to him that Hagrid would probably be strong enough to accompany him during his transformation. But no, when Remus was in that condition, it was too risky for him to encounter anyone without animal form.
After Hagrid had left for Hogwarts in the afternoon, Remus went home to fetch the field study on elves and continued to number twelve, Grimmauld Place to return the book to Hermione. He felt confident enough to speculate that his conversation with her might touch the topic of werewolves, too.
As Remus had guessed he would, he found Hermione in the drawing room studying a school book, while Harry and Ron were there playing wizard chess.
“He’s learning something about strategies in every game,” Ron said, when Remus expressed his concern about Harry being about to lose.
Remus looked at Harry with a sudden thought that Harry really needed a tutor to help him prepare himself instead of only waiting for the enemy’s next move. He realised that he had still not heard if Dumbledore had found a new teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Without a warning he felt tremendous anger at himself about having wasted precious time. Instead of acting with such delicacy towards Harry and perhaps mainly towards himself, and spending time on the art of painting, he should have taken the opportunity to now teach Harry whatever skills or knowledge or understanding of life he possessed which could be of use for the boy to stay alive and face his final responsibility. Soon Harry would be at Hogwarts, where even Dumbledore could not let Remus come because of the attitudes of the governors of the school. Instead of turning his anger at those influential pure-blood parents, he forced it to abate and said seriously, “Harry, if it suits you, I’d like to talk to you alone after a couple of days.”
Harry looked up in surprise and nodded, while moving a chessman and hardly paying attention to which one it was. As Ron immediately finished the game and started explaining how Harry could have beaten him, Remus approached Hermione, apologising in case he interrupted her badly.
“It’s all right. I’m happy you came early again. There’s almost too much time for me to spend on reading here. You see, we don’t think we should go out very often, because Harry can’t.” Hermione had lowered her voice, and she now glanced at the boys.
A wide smile spread on her face, perhaps triggered by Ron’s sincere enthusiasm in explaining strategies to Harry. Harry, on the contrary, looked clearly absentminded.
Remus caught Hermione’s eyes again, and she continued in a cheerful tone, “I’ve almost finished even the Numerology book. Now I’ve read through all the textbooks for this school year and written notes about them. You know, I’ve got rid of that habit of learning every detail by heart. Now I prefer writing down the relevant facts and my conclusions. When school starts, I’ll be able to concentrate on the classes and on the SPEW. But I renamed it SEE, to stand for Support Elves’ Empowerment.”
Placing the thick book on the desk, Remus laughed benevolently. “Perfect. It shows that you have studied social research. I first thought that more research should be made on the current conditions of the house-elves. But now after finishing this book I believe it’s time for action.”
Hermione’s face began to shine of excitement and she exclaimed, “Yes, you are absolutely right. The house-elves must just be made aware of the power they’ve already got in their ancient culture, so they can begin to influence their own lives and to develop the society.”
“Hermy, I can’t believe it! You can’t be serious trying to recruit Professor Lupin to that SPEW thing.”
Remus turned to Ron, who was faking an expression of being about to vomit. He hurried to answer before Hermione would show her offended feelings. “Ron, remember you promised to call me Remus. And Hermione doesn’t have to recruit me. I’m already a member, you see, and it’s now called SEE, because we support the elves to empower themselves, so they can improve both their lives and this society.”
“You are kidding.” Ron rolled his eyes. “Those whiny creatures dressed in pillowcases improve our society!”
Remus still smiled, but he was unable to completely balance his voice. “I suppose the point is not how they are dressed. The most powerful magic of the elves has been hidden for a long time. A part of it has been taken away from them. But there may well be something that the wizards have not been able to even imagine.”
Harry had been arranging the chessboard, but now he suddenly lifted his head. “Do you mean that magic of making images out of air?”
“Yes, that has been bought from them for a price far below its value. But what is hidden may include something more relevant in the…war, if that’s what you like to call it. But maybe we should hope that the wizards on both sides despise the elves too much to ever find out. I doubt those who are hungry for power care to read even this book or take the trouble to learn more.”
Remus had concentrated on suppressing his aggressive instincts, which were growing almost unbearably. Now he realised that he had probably unwisely made the boys even too much interested in the elves.
So as to lean forward, Harry had pushed the chessboard aside, causing some of the chessmen to fall screaming to the floor. “What do you mean? You hope the good side won’t know about this powerful magic either?”
“Is there a good side?” Remus said this quietly and he half wished he had changed the topic earlier. “Tomorrow I shan’t be here because of the full moon.”
All the three teenagers avoided his eyes and stayed quiet. Ron shuddered. Finally Harry glanced at Remus, who realised that he had never talked to them about his lycanthropy after that night when he had got Sirius back and almost killed Peter with him.
“Are you still getting that potion?” After posing his question Harry bit his lip.
“No, I haven’t got it at all after I left Hogwarts. But I shan’t harm anybody. I’ll be locked up.”
Hermione now stared at him with a hand over her mouth. “But how about you? Maybe it was all right last year when you had… I mean, you’ve said that if you are alone, you’ll harm yourself.”
“I can manage well, if I’ve got a companion who’s got an animal form. Harry, I actually hope that Hedwig will come to me tomorrow evening. But she won’t leave your room, if you are against it.”
That night Remus stayed awake on purpose. He feared the dreams he might have and preferred his controlled analysing to anything that might rise from his subconscious uninvited.
He tried his best not to be angry with himself about the need to worry that he might have participated in hurting any humans four weeks earlier. Miss Emeline must have been right. She would have seen it in him. He would have sensed it himself, too. And - although perhaps it was just his incurable credulity - he could not believe that those people, or especially that man, had done and made him do anything truly evil.
They must have just been chasing each other and wrestling in a friendly manner. And the blood which he had licked - if he had really done it and it was not just his dream - must have been the same as in the man’s hair, probably blood of the pig they had slaughtered to prepare the ointment.
But there was something here that had started to bother him more and more. He realised that he actually cherished a part of his memory.
He felt it had been worth going through - and he was willing to go through again - all the long nightmare of starving and freezing just to meet in the middle of it the man who would lift the bowl onto his dry lips and rub his skin warm. He had been too close to fainting to have even seen the face properly then, but now he could see it more and more clearly: the features so familiar, the sparkling eyes and the reckless smile.
Compared to the intensifying anger at himself about feeling something close to affection towards that man, it seemed quite bearable now to process the atmosphere and the details of the early memory. The little boy’s encounter with the beast had been beyond all the terror he could ever have imagined. Still, he was now - probably thanks to Miss Emeline’s influence - able to see the memory as a challenge or even as a treasure.
He had bought one small canvas and some oil paint a few days earlier with an intention to experiment on an abstract piece in colour but without any clear idea of what he wanted to express. Now he suddenly knew what to paint. He lit a magical light as similar to the daylight as possible and started working.
By dawn he had finished a harmonious composition of black and white shapes. There was a playful rhythm at the basis and a hopeful, dynamic, open structure above and on both sides. And he left some of his slowly rising aggression unsuppressed, and channelled it to destroy the harmony by splashing colour of blood in violent strokes all over the painting. Not the shade of fresh blood to appeal to his senses, but that of blood dried too long ago to be removed. The magic of this image was its absolute lack of movement.
He could not be completely satisfied with his work as a sample of abstract art. What the picture represented seemed too clear. But he felt happy about the process. And he went to sleep and had a dreamless rest until past noon.
Thus he woke up reconciled and confident. To finish preparing himself to have as much strength as possible, in order to stay alert through the following night, he still went out to have a proper meal, but not too far, so that he would not tire himself. He chose once again the near-by exotic fast food restaurant owned by an elderly wizard from Lebanon, who made delicious sandwiches of thin Arabic bread, salad and falafel. That was Remus’s favourite kind of food, vegetarian but nutritious and filling. He was running out of money again, but refused to worry about it now, as if this were a special day to celebrate and not the worst day of the month.
In the middle of the afternoon he started feeling the pain. Now it was time to go Mrs Porchead.
She eyed him keenly from under her peacock feather in the manner she had adopted a few weeks earlier. If she had not thought about the fact that it was the time of the full moon now, she did not seem too irritated to be reminded of the special clause in their rent contract. Remus was not sure if her gaze was a sign of her sincere concern about his health, or if she only meant to act in her own interest when checking that he continued to look well-nourished and fit for work.
“I hope it won’t consume too much of your strength this time,” she said.
“Thank you. I’ll be all right, and there will be no trouble, thanks to your service, too.”
“So you want to be locked in now?”
“Yes, please.”
Remus followed Mrs. Porchead to the cellar. She slid her fingers on a concrete wall, and an opening appeared on it, big enough for Remus to step through when he bent his head. She came after him into the hidden, empty room not much smaller than his own. The other, small opening, high on the outer wall, was just wide enough for an owl to enter, he caught himself thinking.
“This place has not been used for two months months,” the landlady said, walking around and checking the condition of the room, as if there were anything to check. She stepped back to the opening. “I’m sealing it now, or is there anything you need?”
“Water!” His voice was stifled by sudden urgency, but he tried to calm down. “I’m sorry. I should have thought of it and brought some.”
“No, it’s all right. I’ll be back soon.” She went out, leaving the wall unclosed.
Remus walked under the small window to feel a breeze on his face. He was alarmed by this new feeling of distress while preparing to let himself be confined to a room voluntarily. He had to reassure himself that there was nothing to worry about. He had spent enough nights in this room to know.
He had first rented a room from Mrs Porchead more than two years earlier. He had known this neighbourhood, not far from Sirius’s parents’ house, ever since he had left school and moved to London. After leaving his position as a teacher he had returned here to look for inexpensive accommodation and also in hope that Sirius could one day come back here from his hiding place in the south.
In the following summer his wish had been granted. And for a whole year they had lived together at Grimmauld Place. For Remus it had probably been the best year of his life, although he was and had been completely aware that it had been far worse for Sirius than what they had hoped for at the time when he had proved his innocence at least to some people. It cannot have been worse than Azkaban, but Sirius must have suffered from being practically imprisoned - and in that particular house, which represented everything he had protested against since his childhood.
And Remus had betrayed Dumbledore’s trust, agreeing to apparate once a month with Sirius to deserted places, where they could enjoy the full moon together. He had done it for Sirius but no less for himself.
After losing Sirius he had felt obliged to leave number twelve, Grimmauld Place immediately. He had no right to claim it as his home. His old room in Mrs Porchead’s building had still been available - and her magic ability was what he needed when he had no friend to accompany him at his transformation.
He was startled by a clink and a thud. Mrs Porchead had let down on the floor the things she had been levitating. There was a jug of water, and both a bowl and a glass, and a rolled rug.
She waved her hand to open the roll. “This is an old rug. It won’t matter if you happen to rip it into shreds.”
Remus became aware of a forceful instinct to protest aggressively, although her behaviour lately and at the moment prevented him from interpreting the words as an insult. He suppressed the reaction, smiling at this feat of his as well as at her acts and words. “You know I will try not to do that. You are very considerate. Thank you so much.”
She glanced at him briefly and turned to leave. “Well… good night.”
The last thing Remus saw, before the opening disappeared, was the steely light of her fingertips. He drank some water and poured some into the bowl, too. Then he sat down on the rug to wait.
The gnawing pain inside of him was stronger than he had remembered. Having prepared himself so well, he now had - unlike four weeks earlier - no other ailment to catch any part of his attention.
This was how it was meant to be. He was capable of concentrating on the pain, remembering that he would have to go through it again in the morning, and again month after month. This should have been enough to offer him a catharsis, purify his essence. But he knew it was not true. He would have to continue to live with the same doubts and with the risk of some day damning himself for eternity.
In this mental and physical torment it felt, surprisingly, like a relief to think of what he had remembered as an overwhelming anguish. Locked up in that hut, suffering from his wounds, thirst and hunger and cold, he had gradually lost the awareness of even the fear of what they would force him to do. His helpless state had, in any case, freed him from a big part of the responsibility.
It suddenly struck him that the werewolves of Bygle had perhaps meant to do good to him. By not taking care of him they had actually made this particular pain easier for him. They had dragged him with them by force, but he now realised that they had, in fact, not hit him or hurt him in any way anymore. Compared to the nervousness and the uncontrolled aggression which he had witnessed and been a victim of on the preceding days, all the events at that sunset had been harmonious. He had not seen any aggression among them either. In the end there had been nothing truly evil, or even violent, in the ritual.
Now he understood what the feared rituals might be about. The werewolves living in a community did not gather to worship dark forces so as to be allowed to join them and be evil. The meaning of the ritual was simply to ease the pain of the transformation: to allow them, as a collective, to help each other through it with solidarity. It was probable that none of them had become a werewolf voluntarily. And it was sure none of them had a choice not to transform. But they got together to help each other go through the pain. The chanting apparently even made it possible for them to control their aggression until the moment of the transformation. And the ointment seemed to momentarily offer a concrete relief, while in reality there was nothing a werewolf could do to avoid this tormenting pain.
Now the pain in his whole body suddenly intensified as in a rush of a wave and almost blinded his mind. He had allowed his concentration to relax for a moment, and he now felt a desperate need of a companion to help him control his mind.
That was what the werewolves of the community had done to each other. He had just been too weak to benefit from it fully. He had lost the control of his mind for a part of the night. But maybe none of the others had. They had spent the night in friendly wrestling and chasing each other. If he had returned the service to the man with the enthralling smell in his hair, maybe he would now know for sure that he had not hurt any human.
He had just enough time left for undressing, before the pain spread in convulsions into his limbs and he could control his body no longer. He clung to the thought of a friend having a contact with his mind. But the image of Hagrid’s face covered with tears kept fading, no matter how hard he struggled not to lose it.
For a moment he was able to wrap his arms around himself. Then he felt his claws scratch the skin of his upper arms, until his whole body was the body of a monstrous wolf. He lifted his head to cry out with agony and to hear it turn into a howl. His mind was suddenly dominated by a wish to hurt all those - including himself - who had stopped him from joining anybody to ease his pain. He still had the human sense to be aware of a conclusion that he would now lose the control of his mind. He would end up wounding himself all through the night.
At that moment he felt a current of air on his face. He was staring into a pair of big round amber eyes. The owl’s beak touched gently his snout, and he knew that he still had got his own warm amber eyes.
Remus the wolf and Hedwig the owl spent the night chasing each other around the room. Closer to the dawn the wolf curled up on the rug to wait, while the owl flew out to return with a mouse in her claws. The wolf watched her eat it and just drank some water. Then he curled up again to wait for the transformation. Soon his body twisted in pain, but she stayed close to his face, hooting quietly and staring into his eyes. When it was all over, she brought his robes in her peak and helped him get dressed.
Then the owl headed for home, leaving the man exhausted but unwounded and triumphant. Mrs Porchead would soon arrive to find her rug intact.
The first part of Chapter Six is here