Forsaken

Four
In which there are two sides of a coin.

After Christmas the Seventh Years began to get really jumpy, anxious to leave (and, theoretically prepare for their NEWTs) and the Fifth Years began to cram for their OWLs. Houses tried hard to gain points to win the Cup. And Slytherin and Gryffindor try to see who will get the last laugh.

Peter continued to follow James and Sirius, mostly James. 'He's amazing, Remus, I wish I could be like him,' he confided. The two boys tried as hard as they could to keep up with the quota, Peter still too scared to join in with them.

Sirius played Quidditch, a Chaser, and he and James just got more into the game as the year went on. Gryffindor beating Slytherin is equitable to England beating France… in anything (not like that's rare).

The wolf pounded at my mind, tearing me apart. He really got at me, more than he had before and I slipped into seclusion more. I hoped, desperately, that my roommates wouldn't notice. Maybe, I thought, they could concern themselves with other things. Maybe they could forget that I existed as I let the wolf tear at my mind.

I like regularity. My dorm room was my sanctuary and I loved the classes and the learning. I loved my teachers and…

I hated leaving.

Okay, school wasn't exactly like I had imagined it. Then again, eleven-year-olds are not the nicest people in the world. But it was school and I did want to be there. Hogwarts was home, from the moment I stepped in the front door. Dumbledore wanted me; he thought that I would flourish in the environment that Hogwarts would create for me. No one else wanted me.

Papa disowned me when I was nine. The Lupins didn't want me – any of them. Maman's a Muggle, so her family didn't want me, either. The werewolf thing, remember? However, somewhere in their minds, they knew that throwing an untrained, nine-year-old werewolf-wizard out into the wild would harm the rest of humanity (never mind their nine-year-old son).

So they sent me to live with Uncle Jean. Crazy Uncle Jean. Uncle Jean lived in Calais, close to where all the Cash And Carries are. He liked his liquor. Uncle Jean was 'secluded' from the rest of the Lupins for reasons that I never fully understood. He worked with the French Ministry doing something that he never told me. He was gone for most of the day and often most of the night. When he didn't come back plastered, I could assume that he had spent the night either passed out on some side-alley or at a whorehouse of some kind.

He had a cellar with a padlock. 'Pour le loup.' For the wolf. I was nine. He set up a pallet and a blanket and the cellar became my room. Once a month he locked the door until he was certain that I had been done transforming. Then he would bring me hot water to bathe in and, if he was sober enough, he'd cast a Healing Charm. I did learn to do those myself, later, but I couldn't (legally) at age nine.

Sometimes he would lock me in there for days, because he forgot I existed. I hated that most. I was, then, completely alone with the wolf. My candle would burn out and my bedding would have been torn by my transformation. I would have been lying, pained, on the cold-stone floor of the cellar. 'À cause du loup.' Because of the wolf. It almost made me wish that all he did was beat me. No, that would have been easy.

But laws were laws, and werewolves' locations had to be constantly monitored, so, with resign, I flooed to Calais and Uncle Jean.

'Bonjour, garçon,' he was waiting for me.

'Bonjour, oncle,' I moved back towards the fireplace, fearing for myself.

He grinned, 'enfin je puis me débarrasser de vous.' Finally I can get rid of you. He opened up the cellar and gave me a push down. I heard the heavy click of the lock and felt the darkness surround me.

From memory I found the pallet and I crawled up on it, letting my tears fall.

Sirius had it bad, but I had it worse. À cause du loup.

Eventual exploration proved that there was some food laid out as well as a candle or two. He actually had meant for me to stay there for a time. I was unsure how to react. There were plenty of provisions I found, and water and… cleaning supplies. How long had be meant for me to be there?

I found with horror that I went through one full-moon and was very near another when the door opened and I saw a light from the top of the stair well. It was Uncle Jean. When I wavered to the top, I saw that he was not alone. There was a man of about thirty or so with brown hair and brown eyes. English. He was standing by my untouched trunk by the fireplace.

The English man looked at me carefully, then at my uncle, then back at me. He reached inside his robes and pulled out a large sack that, I assume contained coinage.

'Vous appartenez à lui, loup,' Uncle Jean snarled at me as he shoved me forward towards the man. You belong to him, wolf.

He flooed us away to a more homey location where, without a word, he half-carried me to a room up a flight of stairs, made me to lay on the bed and preformed a thorough Healing.

'Remus,' he said, 'I'm so sorry. That should not have been allowed to happen.' I looked at him, 'my name is Quinton Holloway, and I've been fighting for minority magick group rights for most of my life. I heard about you through the French Ministry, and from Albus Dumbledore.' Dumbledore. Of course. That man had fifty hands if he had two. 'I've had your records changed and you'll stay with me until you decide otherwise. No reason to say anything now, go to sleep, rest off your last moon and I'll have a big dinner ready for you in a few hours.'

I smiled gratefully. 'Thank your, Messer. Halloway.'

'Remus, call me Quin.'