Fathoming the Mind of a Werewolf

"Yes, Mother. James has done well. He came top in his year in Transfiguration and second in Charms, third in Potions and third in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

"Joint third with Sirius," James amended.

James's grandmother beamed at him.

"The thing about James," she said, as though about to impart some great and closely guarded secret, "is that he's very clever."

James's father winked at him before turning back to Elizabeth Potter.

"What was your best subject, Mother?"

James's grandmother thought for a moment, urging her memory to penetrate the thick clouds that pain and time had formed in her foggy brain.

"Transfiguration," she said at last, a twinkle of triumph in her eye. "How did James do in Transfiguration, Jolyon?"

"James came first out of his year in Transfiguration," James's father said again.

"Pardon, dear? You have taken to speaking rather softly nowadays."

"James-came-top-in-Transfiguration."

"Don't speak like that, Jolyon! I'm not simple."

James chuckled at his father's cowed expression.

"Yes," continued his grandmother. "I was always good at Transfiguration, you know." She tried to pull herself into a more upright position among the pillows, but had to be helped by James's father. "He'll get that from me," she said proudly, looking past James at a large picture of a young woman hanging on the wall. "Reginald always was useless at Transfiguration, and you're just like your father, Jolyon, dear."

At this remark she patted the hand of James's grandfather, a tall, gaunt looking man stationed by his wife's bedside. Both Reginald and Jolyon Potter had light brown hair and rather long, thin faces. Both looked at Elizabeth with a mixture of love, pity and pride.

James watched the scene and rather wished he were outside, playing Quidditch. This was, after all, only his second day with his broom. But even James grudgingly admitted that his grandmother was more important. It'd been a nasty shock, when he'd come home, to see her like this. She had suffered ill health for a while, which was why his grandparents had eventually decided to move back into Ketterleigh Castle, the house they had forfeited in favour of their son and his wife before James was born. Now he realised, as he took in the withered figure smothered in a quilt despite the warm July weather, that his granny had come here to die.

Her hair was the only part of her that hadn't faded, aside from her spirit. It hung in two thick coils and snaked across the pillows, a gleaming chestnut against the white linen. Underneath the beautiful hair, her eyes peeped out of their encircling wrinkles, making her look like a gingerbread man whose currant eyes have been pushed too far into the dough. Laid out on a nearby chair was what looked like the beginnings of a jumper, in a bold Gryffindor red.

"Do you want your knitting, Granny?" he asked, noticing that the gnarled hands were pulling at the bed cover. They were not used to lying idle.

"No, thank you dear," she said. "I think I need some new needles. Those old ones won't knit properly any more."

James's grandfather coughed, a dry, choking cough that sounded like a sob.

It was a horrible month. James hated feeling that he was supposed to be miserable all the time. The house had a hushed, mournful air about it; sickness pervaded the atmosphere like an encompassing fog. Every creaking stair or slamming door sounded indecent in this house of death. Every time James began to whistle, or to slide down the banisters, he would remember that a life was ending only feet away, and he would stop. He hated going into the room, the room that now even smelt ill. The unnaturally sweet air seemed cloying and diseased. He hated seeing his granny like that. He was used to seeing her sitting in her chair knitting, or, on a good day, bustling about the kitchen, always ready with some freshly-made treat for her grandson.

His parents encouraged him to see her, knowing how much Elizabeth doted upon James. But James hated spending time with the bedridden and increasingly confused figure, who would gaze at him with unseeing eyes and ask him whether young Reggie Potter had called for her yet. Worse was seeing his grandpa standing sentinel by her side. When she lapsed back in time, he would look at her, his craggy old face full of such sadness and love brought on by the tender memories, that it was awful even for James to watch.

James spent a lot of time out on his broom. Ketterleigh Castle had its own Quidditch pitch hidden in the woods to the side of the house, that James's father had added. However, his father wouldn't play with him very often, and James had to steel himself against the stabs of guilt he felt when, after joyous, air-borne minutes, he realised he had forgotten about his granny.

He missed his friends. He had hoped to invite them over to Ketterleigh Castle, especially Sirius, who was having a miserable time at home, but that was impossible. Peter said that his mother didn't like having lots of people around. Almost a month into the holiday, however, James received a note on his parchment from Remus.

Hi, I hope you are enjoying the holidays. I was wondering if you three wanted to come over for a few days next week. Our house isn't very big, but, if you don't mind, I thought we could camp in the garden. Mum says it's fine, so let me know.

Remus

Underneath, Sirius had already replied.

Remus, you are brilliant! It'll be great! As for sleeping in the garden, I'd sleep in the Forbidden Forest if it meant getting away from this hellhole. When can I come?

Sirius

James frowned at the parchment. It would be fantastic to get away. It would be wonderful to see his friends. But he couldn't. To leave when his grandmother was so ill would be wrong. It would upset his parents. He couldn't just go and have fun. No, he was stuck in the house of death. He sighed and picked up a quill.

Sorry, I'd like to come, but I can't. My grandmother's ill, so I have to stay at home. Hope you have fun, anyway. Sirius, sleeping in the Forbidden Forest sounds like an idea for next year. What do you think?

James

He was still glaring at the parchment when he heard his mother's amplified voice calling him.

"James! Supper's ready!"

He thundered down the stairs. His mother was in the dining room, in which his grandfather liked to eat. James preferred the castle's warm kitchen, but, instead, the four of them had their meals at one end of the large table that could easily seat forty people, watched by portraits of long-dead Potters.

His mother ruffled James's messy black hair that was just like her own, before turning to light the large torches that hung on the walls.

"Brr," she said, shivering. "Nasty old room this, isn't it, James?"

Just then, a house-elf scurried through the door, holding a covered tray. The Potters had two house-elves, Gilly, who had been in the family ever since the marriage of James's grandparents, and her daughter, Tilly.

"Mrs Freyda, Miss ," squeaked Gilly, "I is just taking this to Mrs Potter,"

"Actually," James's mum said, "James will take it up." She turned to James. "You haven't seen Granny all day."

James huffed, but took the tray from Gilly and started up the stairs.

"Granny," he called outside her door. There was no answer. With the dread he had come to feel whenever he entered her room alone, he pushed open the door and stepped inside, wrinkling his nose at the deathbed smell that no amount of charms could dispel.

"Granny?" he said again, but quieter. She was asleep. He could hear the heavy rasp of each laboured breath and could see the jerky rise and fall of the bed covers. Putting the tray down on a table at the head of the bed, he watched her face, feeling intrusive as he did so, as though he were invading her privacy and stealing her dignity. Her eyes were closed, but the pain still showed in the drawn face. She never used to have that many wrinkles, surely? He hadn't wanted to look at her properly since he'd come home; he was struck by the weakness in her face, as though her body was just falling away, until all that remained were the glowing chestnut coils. He turned away and looked at the pictures on the wall. There was a framed photograph of his grandparents' wedding. Even in black and white, he could tell that his granny had been pretty. Next to her, his grandpa stood straight and proud. They had a funny taste in robes then, James thought, chuckling at their old-fashioned attire. Next to it was a picture of his parents' wedding, his father beaming, his mother's hair for once lying flat under the veil. There were many pictures of James: James as a gurgling, black-haired baby, James hugging a stuffed dragon, James holding his father's wand, with a mischievous grin on his face, James on his first broom... Above the photographs was a large portrait. James raised his head and met the familiar gaze of the young lady in it. She was staring solemnly at him, her chestnut hair pinned up off her face. As James looked, the young woman blew a raspberry and laughed at his surprised expression. She winked, and he winked back.

There came a strangled moan from the bed. James spun round. For a second, the papery eyelids flickered, and then a stillness crept over the ravaged face.

"MUM! DAD! MUM!" James yelled. His voice didn't sound right. It rang, high-pitched, above the drumming in his ears. His parents appeared. James's father stood at the bed, his head bowed. James's mother wrapped an arm round her husband and son, and the three of them stared at the frail figure in the bed, who was now at peace.

"Poor old James," his mother said the next day. "This has been a pretty miserable holiday for you so far.

"S'all right," James said, shrugging.

His father patted his head. "We'll have to see a match or something before the summer is over," he said, before turning to James's grandfather. "Are you sure this is everyone, Father?"

James's grandfather stared blindly at the list for a few moments, blinked, and looked again.

"You've forgotten the Marchbanks," he said.

James's father ran his hand through his hair for the umpteenth time.

"I'll get some tea," James's mother said. "Could you help me, James?"

James followed his mother into the kitchen, where she put the kettle to boil on the aga . Summoning the biscuit tin, she offered one to James, took one herself, leaned on the aga and sighed.

"It's one of the difficulties of being a Potter, James. You've got to observe etiquette at all times, even when someone has died. Especially when someone has died."

"What do you mean?" James asked.

His mother looked at him. "Well, now that your granny has gone, Grandpa and Dad have to make sure everybody is informed who should be informed. Representatives from all the old families will be invited to the funeral. There are sort of rules of politeness that you have to stick to when you come from a family like the Potters."

James thought. It seemed to him very unfair that his father and grandfather had to worry about who to invite to a funeral when they were clearly sad about Granny dying.

"Will the Blacks be invited?" he asked.

"Indeed," his mother said. "They won't come, of course, but we have to maintain a show of politeness."

"Even though the families hate each other?"

"Especially because the families, erm, don't get on. It wouldn't do to show that we don't like each other. Anyway, that's all changing now. With you and Sirius being as close as you are, in future years the two families will be friends. After all, you are the future of each family."

James thought about this. He was the future of the Potter family. He had always known that his family was respected and wealthy, but he had never thought about the time when he would be the head of the household. He imagined himself and Sirius, each as old men, guiding their respective families. He looked up at his mother, who was directing the tea-making with her wand. He didn't want to think about a time when his parents wouldn't be around.

"I don't think the rest of Sirius's family would ever change," he said to her. "Sirius says they're awful. He's been dying to get away."

"Well, maybe we can invite Sirius to stay, after everything,"

"Oh, that's all right," James said, feeling that he had coerced his mother into making the offer. "Sirius is going to Remus's soon."

"Weren't you invited?"

James shifted his position against the hot aga and nodded.

"Yeah, but I said I couldn't go."

James's mother looked at him with a small smile on her face and pulled him into a hug.

"Mu-um!"

"Sorry." She offered him another biscuit. "I suppose you're too grown up to be hugged by your mother."

He grimaced at her. She laughed.

"I think you should go to Remus's, if the Lupins will have you. It'll do you good to have some fun with your friends, and your father and I will have enough to do without worrying about whether you're bored."

"Really?"

"I don't see why not."

James felt like hugging her.

Once they'd carried the tea things into the sitting room, James's mother was drawn in to help his father and grandfather, so, armed with the biscuit tin, James went up to his room. He looked at the parchment.

Dear Remus,

Mum says I can come, but not for too long. If James isn't coming do we still have to sleep in a tent? James, you were joking about the Forbidden Forest, weren't you?

Peter

James wasn't joking - it's a marvellous plan , Sirius's scrawl read.

Of course, James was joking, Peter. Don't worry; we aren't having any sleepovers in the Forbidden Forest. I'm sorry about your grandmother, James.

Remus, stop being a spoilsport.

Feeling very glad that he was allowed to go, James then felt guilty for feeling glad. He started writing before he could further confuse himself.

Why would I joke about sleeping in the Forbidden Forest? Of course, you don't have to come, Peter, if you're too scared! Remus, Mum's said that I can come, after all, that is, if your parents are okay with it.

James

"It's so nice to see friends of Remus's. You must be James. Remus has told us so much about you."

Mrs Lupin was a kindly-looking woman, whose smiling face was lined around the eyes and mouth, although she couldn't be much older than James's own mother.

"Mu-um," Remus groaned, rolling his eyes at James, who grinned back as he stepped out of the fireplace. It was just as well that he did, for at that moment a whoosh of green flames announced another arrival, and Sirius appeared in the fireplace.

"Hello," he said to Remus's mother, holding out a rather sooty hand. "I'm Sirius Black."

"Pleased to meet you, Sirius," Mrs Lupin said, beaming. "Remus's father is around somewhere." Edmund," she called. "The boys are here."

"Would you like anything to eat?" she asked, turning back to Sirius and James.

They sat down at the small kitchen table, while Mrs Lupin fussed about, stacking the small surface with plates of food.

"She's been baking all morning," Remus told them.

"Well, I know what boys are like," his mother said, setting a steak and kidney pie in front of James.

A door opened, and a man who looked very like Remus entered the room. He was tall, and his grey head brushed the door frame as he passed under it.

"Ah, boys, you must be..."

"Sirius Black,"

"James P-"

"Potter." Mr Lupin smiled to himself. "I used to know your father, James. A very fine man."

James nodded, not knowing what to say.

"Sirius and James both did very well in their exams, Edmund," Mrs Lupin said, as she took a batch of scones out of the oven. "Top of the class in just about everything."

"Remus beat us both in Defence Against the Dark Arts," Sirius said, in between forking food into his mouth.

"So I hear," Mr Lupin said. "It's good that Remus has friends who will encourage him to work hard."

James snorted, and Sirius choked on his mouthful of pie. Remus sniggered.

Mr Lupin grinned and suddenly looked very youthful.

"It's also good that Remus has friends who'll encourage him to have fun."

Peter arrived, swaying somewhat, a little later, having taken the Knight Bus (his mother didn't trust him to Floo on his own). Thus began a very happy few days for the four boys, who explored the surrounding countryside, played Quidditch on the Lupins' battered old brooms, played with the family's pack of dogs and slept outside in a rather worn bed-sit of a tent. Mrs Lupin delighted in providing enough food to feed a small kingdom, which the boys managed to get through. Both she and Mr Lupin seemed very happy to see Remus enjoying himself with the others. When they left, Mrs Lupin gave each of them a fierce hug, and Mr Lupin shook their hands with a solemn smile.

"My regards to your father, James," he added.

"Edmund Lupin," said James's father, when James had passed on the message. "I haven't seen him in eight or nine years. He was on his way to becoming head of my department, when he suddenly took himself and his family off to live in the country. Said he didn't like working at the Ministry. He binds books for a living now."

James's mother shook her head. "Odd, how some people do things out of the blue," she said. "Maybe he wanted to spend more time with his family."

Remus hadn't told them about that. James guessed that the reason for Mr Lupin's sudden departure from the Ministry of Magic was to protect Remus and keep him out of the way. Remus's family had very little money, he knew, and the fact that Mr Lupin had given up a highly paid job for him must make Remus feel very guilty. James felt a surge of frustration that he could do nothing to help his friend.

The funeral was a grand affair. James was surprised at how many people had known and liked his grandmother. He was beginning to see what his mother had meant, though. The whole Potter family was on display and he, as its future, felt he had a duty to impress the guests. The day passed slowly. James felt he was treated like a house-elf; he had to offer food round to the hordes of mourners. That was better than his other job, which was being kissed by all the elderly women who'd shown up, most of whom he was somehow related to. His father's comment that in a few years he'd enjoy that level of attention from the opposite sex did not make James feel any better about it. The upside was, however, that after the funeral Sirius was to come and stay.

Sirius arrived, and James found Ketterleigh Castle to be a much more interesting place when he was showing it off to Sirius. He showed him the marble stag at the entrance, which bowed members and guests of the Potter family into the house. They sat on the stairs and watched the Muggle tourists who came to look round the castle, throwing cherry-stones at them to see if they'd notice. All the Muggles walked straight by them, apart from a pink-cheeked girl of about seven, who stared at them and was making a bee-line for them until her mother called 'Hestia! Come away.' James showed Sirius the enchanted portraits the family used to access the wizarding part of the castle, the long, steep banisters that were perfect for sliding down and, of course, the Quidditch pitch. James's father took them to a Quidditch match as promised, and they watched James's favourite team, the Falmouth Falcons, beat the Chudley Cannons by a very convincing 210- 30.

James related to Sirius what his father had said about Remus's father, and how it must make Remus feel. Sirius frowned.

"But there is nothing that we can do."

"I know. It's annoying."

They were sitting in James's bedroom, listlessly flicking through a box of books which James's mother had given them.

"These were all Granny's. I don't know if you want them at all. They may be useful when you come to your OWLs, although they may be a little outdated."

The books were mainly on Transfiguration, which James put aside for later. There were a few on Defence Against the Dark Arts, too, and a number of very old Quidditch annuals, which amused James and Sirius greatly; it seemed James's grandmother had been a fan of the Holyhead Harpies.

"Look at this!" Sirius had unearthed a batch of magazines entitled "Beasts of Britain." On the cover of the July issue for 1947, was a picture of a forest at night. Above the treetops, a full moon hung, and between two tree trunks was a wolf. It wasn't really a wolf, though. Emblazoned across the cover was the headline:

Away with Werewolves!

They read the article, frowns deepening on their foreheads. The author was arguing that all werewolves on the Ministry of Magic's Werewolf register should be destroyed.

"That's barbaric!" James said. "They're people."

"Not according to this - look."

Sirius pointed to a particular paragraph.

Until now, the Ministry has shied away from using dynamic and effective measures against these beasts, arguing that, afflicted as they are, they are still members of the human race. This is, however, not the case. Werewolves are dark creatures who actively seek human victims above other prey, thereby demonstrating a complete lack of human instinct, for what kind would turn against their own? Moreover, the werewolf bite only causes lycanthropy in humans, proving that the werewolf seeks to create more monsters like itself. If werewolves were in any way bestowed with human feelings, they would bite only animals, upon which they have no effect, thereby saving mankind from the fate which has befallen them. In fact, their despicable desire to wreak havoc sees the werewolf select his victim before the full moon arrives, giving him his wolfish form. It is only the shape the werewolf takes which is governed by the moon; its mind is continually one of ungovernable malice. The continued presence of werewolves in our society, therefore, merely serves to augment their numbers. The disposal of these fiends is necessary. It cannot be called inhumane; it is a crime against humanity to allow them to live.

James finished the article with a scowl on his face. "What piece of slime wrote that?"

Sirius checked the magazine. "Some berk called Edwin Umbridge."

"It's a load of rubbish," fumed James. "Saying werewolves want to bite people. I'd say he's devoid of 'human feelings'."

"Nasty, isn't it," Sirius said. His eyes flicked over the page again and stopped on a certain line. "That's interesting, though."

"What?" James read the line again.

'...the werewolf bite only causes lycanthropy in humans...'

"Humans can't be around werewolves, but animals can," Sirius said.

"What are you getting at?" James asked, and then he had a flash of inspiration. "Oh!"

He searched through the pile of Transfiguration books, until he found 'The Animal Without: A study of Animagi'. He held it up.

"Exactly," said Sirius.