To Face the Wolf

Severus Snape

Fuming, Severus Snape returned to his dungeons. Dumbledore hadn't attached any significance to the fact that the stranger appeared to be a Legilimens. 'But Severus, dear boy! Surely you know that you, of all people, have little to fear from such a person,' he had replied calmly, popping the lemon drop his Potions Master had declined into his mouth.

Severus had tried to point out that an unknown entity with strange eyes showing up unexpectedly in a place where Apparition was impossible, would pose a considerable risk. Danger could lurk everywhere - hadn't it been hiding under the turban of an innocent seeming teacher less than two years ago? Right now, the escaped mass-murderer Black was at large, threatening the precious life of famous Harry Potter. Who knew what allies Black had inside Hogwarts castle? Even if the Headmaster insisted on trusting Black's former crony the werewolf, was it wise to disregard the possibility of someone entering the castle with the help of an illegal Portkey in order to -

At that moment, Dumbledore had interrupted his Potions Master, wondering how it was possible that the poor werewolf victim Severus had found in the dungeons - a man whose mastery of the English language apparently left much to be desired - had suddenly transformed into a minion of evil even before his status of Dark Creature was officially confirmed. All he could promise, was that he would have another look at this Mr. Felagund. 'But right now I will not lock him up, or ban Remus from the Hospital wing,' merely to satisfy your desire for revenge, his tone implied. Dumbledore clearly failed to acknowledge that the last person to be allowed into this stranger's presence ought to be the resident werewolf.

Dismissed like the schoolboy to whom he was almost invariably reduced in the presence of the irrepressible Headmaster, Snape strode away in a cloud of black fabric. It was almost dinnertime, but he would be damned - as he suspected he was anyway - if he shared a table with either Albus Dumbledore or his pet tonight.

Instead, he almost crashed into Sybill Trelawney, the Divination tart, who rounded a corner and had not seen him coming.

She was nursing her hand. 'I'm on my way to the Hospital wing,' she volunteered, though Snape wasn't aware he had wanted to know. 'I dropped my crystal ball on my little finger. It's probably broken.'

'Really? I didn't know Madam Pomfrey also healed inanimate objects,' Severus remarked. 'But in case she finds a remedy, there's a new patient in the staff sickroom who may want you to crystal-gaze for him and have his future foretold. With a special focus on the next full moon.'

***

Sybill Trelawney

By the time she reached the Hospital wing Sybill was done crying. Usually, physical pain did not provoke quite so many tears, but the combination of Snapish sarcasm and a broken finger-bone would cause the eyes of less sensitive people to run over, she told herself. A consoling thought. She would like to predict a sticky end for the Potions Master, but - and this was just as well, as his reaction would be predictably nasty - her tea leaves refused to have anything to do with the man, while he refused to have anything to do with her crystal ball. Snape had visited her tower exactly once in a full dozen years. She had knocked at his dungeon door thrice that time, and it wasn't her fault he had never let her in.

Poppy Pomfrey cast her a sympathetic glance when she heard what was wrong. 'Poor Sybill. That must hurt.' She moved her wand over the damaged finger. 'Fortunately it's just a simple fracture: nothing shattered. Could have been worse, though; that ball isn't exactly light. But a common healing spell will suffice; you won't have to take Skele-gro.'

'I know,' Sybill said with a wise nod, enjoying the sensation of receding pain - until Poppy added: 'Why did you drop it?'

Sybill shivered. 'I'd just finished polishing it,' she replied, choosing the vaguely threatening tone rather than the dire-peril-inflection or the voice of inevitable disaster, 'when I had this gruesome vision of a great, snapping jaw with razor-sharp teeth showing itself in the crystal.' She wanted to add that the fangs she had seen belonged to a great black Grim when a slight gasp from Poppy cut her short. This surprised her a little, as the healer definitely belonged to those of little faith when it came to Divination. 'Poppy, I see that this disturbs you.'

'It's nothing. The mental image unsettled me a little.'

Sybill was about to say it was the grim prospect of someone dying that should be unsettling when the door to the staff sickroom opened and it was her turn to gasp.

A man dressed in nothing but bandages and a bed sheet wrapped loosely around his torso stepped through. He was impossibly tall, about six feet seven, and even if you counted all the bandages impossibly good-looking with his golden hair and blazing grey-blue eyes and chiseled features and the stretches of smooth, ivory-pale skin visible between the strips of gauze. He blinked once when he saw Poppy and Sybill, smiled disarmingly and gestured toward his groin: 'I need to... please?' His voice was as wonderful as the rest of him, though his accent was a little outlandish and his request disappointingly down-to-earth.

And there was something wrong with him. An air of... sadness... despair even? seemed to hang all about him. He is doomed, Sybill decided with a sigh. What a heavy burden it could be to wear the cloak of prophecy.

Poppy's jaw dropped to the floor. 'You...' she muttered after a silence. 'You can't be well enough to walk yet.' Her voice became stern. 'You ought to stay in bed. And why didn't you tell us you spoke English after-'

'Poppy, he's quite obviously capable of walking, so why shouldn't he visit the bathroom?' Sybill pointed, despite Poppy's mutterings about a chamber pot. 'That way, sir. Second door to the right.'

'Thank you, my lady.' He nodded graciously. While he strode past, his sheet trailing behind him, Sybill smiled fondly. He reminded her of ancient deities, descended to humble and awed mortals.

'Who is this man?' she asked.

'Good question. All I know is that Severus found him injured in one of the dungeons, and that his name seems to be Finrod Felagund.' Poppy lowered her voice. 'Don't mention him to the students. Headmaster's orders.' She turned back to Sybill. 'Why don't you gaze into your crystal ball, or ask your tea leaves who our mysterious stranger is?'

Was the healer coming around where Divination was concerned? 'Of course I will, Poppy! I think -' Sybill stopped abruptly, remembering something. 'Could this be the patient who wanted me to crystal-gaze for him?'

'What? Who told you...' Poppy's frown deepened. 'Let me guess. You had an encounter with Snape.'

Sybill nodded, to the noise of flushing from the bathroom. 'He muttered something about the next full moon as well. I wonder what he was getting at.'

***

Remus Lupin

'Do you really wonder why Severus mentioned the next full moon?' said Remus, emerging from the staff sickroom with his shoes in one hand. 'That should be obvious. He likes to remind people of what I become during those nights. I suppose he hopes Mr. Felagund will find out about it and shun me.'

Sybill Trelawney was eyeing him with the vague confusion that had also crept into her gaze when he refused to let her divine his future. He had pretended it was because her crystal ball reminded him of the full moon, but he hadn't been sure if she believed him. However, she hadn't questioned his truthfulness then, and she didn't seem inclined to question it now.

Scanning the room he asked: 'Where's Finrod?'

'In the bathroom,' Poppy replied. 'Let's hope he'll return to bed before the next student drops from her broomstick or blows up his potions Cauldron. I don't like to obliviate the children. Did you sleep a little, Remus?'

'More than a little.' He smiled. 'I feel better now - and hungry.' The clock told him dinner would be in less than half an hour, and he sat down on a bed to put on his shoes. From the bathroom, he heard renewed sounds of flushing.

He was fumbling with the second shoelace when he heard Sybill say: 'Well, Poppy, thank you for healing my little finger. If Mr. Felagund wants to know more about his future, tell him to come to me when he's better.'

I must remember to warn him, Remus said to himself.

'I'll tell him,' Poppy replied with just a tiny hint of amusement in her voice. 'Take care of yourself, Sybill.'

When Remus straightened, the Divination teacher had left. 'Let me guess,' Poppy said. 'You want to be the one who tells Mr. Felagund about the werewolf bites.'

A third round of flushing in the bathroom. 'Maybe he knows,' Remus said with a deliberate shrug to suggest he didn't care. 'He was about to tell me what bit him when you came in bringing those sleeping draughts.' He raked through his hair with his fingers. 'He's taking an awfully long time in the bathroom. I think I'll take a peek inside, in case he needs help.'

'Remus,' Poppy asked, 'did he explain to you how he ended up in Snape's supply dungeon?'

Remus paused outside the bathroom door, shaking his head. 'He doesn't seem to have the faintest notion.' He dived inside, where Finrod was standing at one of the sinks, playing with the tap.

'An ingenious mechanism,' he declared, trying to stem the flow of the water with his finger and spraying both himself and Remus, who leaped back. 'Is this magic?' He gestured towards one of the cubicles. 'And in there?'

A discourse about the differences between magic and Muggle technology was the last thing on Remus's mind tight then. 'I'll explain it later,' he said. 'Whatever you want to know. But please, tell me first, was it a werewolf who bit you, last night?'

When the other turned to gaze at him he knew how animals caught in the headlights of a Muggle car had to feel. Though he was unable to move, he let his mind go blank before the onslaught of those impossibly bright eyes. It seemed an eternity before Finrod sighed, sorrow, repulsion and pain mingling on his face: 'Yes, it was a werewolf. A creature of darkness.'

NO!

Remus's hunger was acutely replaced by nausea. Stay calm! Don't let your fear get the better of you! Struggling to maintain his composure he asked: 'Are you sure?'

He thought he had succeeded in controlling his voice when Finrod asked, concernedly: 'Are you not well, Remus?'

The running tap became a thunderous waterfall. Remus took a deep breath. It can't have been me. But if it was me, Snape must have tampered with the Wolfsbane and I can face the axe knowing it wasn't my fault. If it comes to that. 'Just give me a moment.' He knew he could do it, could master his panic and take a grip on himself. 'I'm a bit dizzy, is all. Weak with hunger. I hardly ate today. But I'll be allright.' He smiled.

***

Finrod Felagund

He had been about to tell Remus that he had defeated and killed the werewolf when the wizard paled, looking for a moment as if he would faint. He did his best to conceal his inner turmoil, but Finrod was not fooled, neither by his words nor by his smile. It would be better to avoid speaking of werewolves for the time being, for it was plain that this subject thoroughly disturbed Remus's peace of mind - and his own, fragile composure as well, if he was honest.

Meanwhile, the man needed help. Readjusting his bed sheet Finrod left the tiled room to warn the healer. She hurried towards him before he could speak. 'Is something wrong with Remus?'

Together they entered the tiled room and found him with one wrist under the water spouting from the silvery contraption. His face was still white, but he appeared to have regained his composure and rejected the healer's suggestion to lie down again. 'I'll be fine,' he said, letting the water wash over his other wrist.

Finrod doubted the veracity of this claim, but he held his tongue, allowing the healer to send him back to bed. She was capable enough of dealing with Remus, and Finrod assumed that she knew him well.

He had time to mull over several questions before Poppy Pomfrey came in, holding out a fluffy garment resembling a robe. 'This is better than a bed sheet, in case you feel like taking a walk again. Though I'm afraid I must request you to stay in this room as much as is humanly possible, Mr. Felagund, and to warn me if you wish to leave.'

He took the robe from her; it reached no further than his calves. 'Am I... not to be seen?'

'Not yet.' Poppy Pomfrey's tone was slightly evasive.

He was not surprised, let alone insulted, that they wished to know more about him, the stranger, before they could reveal his presence or grant him the freedom of their school. But why did the healer omit to tell him that it had something to do with the wounds made by Sauron's werewolf? They were still there, although he felt that they were closing, his flesh knitting itself together with the swift healing powers of the Eldar. And at this very moment, these wounds were foremost in Poppy Pomfrey's mind. Perhaps he should stop probing for a while?

Finrod drew up his right leg and began to pull at the bandage around the ankle. The healer shook her head disapprovingly. 'You can't take those off yet. It's too soon; such injuries take time to heal properly. I'll change your bandages tonight, but it will take some days before you -'

She fell silent when the gauze came away, and Finrod saw her stare at the scabs covering the skin where the evil bonds - broken with a strength that he had never expected to find - had cut into his wrists and ankles. Suppressing the urge to scratch he removed the remainder of the bandage. 'I'll be fine,' he echoed Remus's claim in the bathroom.

'You talk just like Remus. That attitude of his is contagious,' said the healer before she closed her mouth abruptly, looking dismayed, as if it had been a bad thing to say.

Though he failed understand why, Finrod decided to change the subject. He patted his stomach. 'I would like...' he searched for the correct word '... to eat?'

'Ah, you're hungry?' She seemed relieved. 'I'll have dinner brought up from the kitchen. Professor Snape told me you'd better avoid the consumption of meat so shortly after taking his antidote, but there's plenty of other food, and we have excellent cooks.'

Finrod inclined his head and casually began to unwind the bandage around his left ankle. 'I must remember to thank Professor Snape' - whoever he may be - 'for the antidote.'

'Thank Snape?' the healer said, surprised, as if this was a novel thought for her.

What ails these mortals? Finrod wondered. Was it their magic that made them behave so much more oddly than the peoples of Beor and Hador and Haleth, or was there something he did not know yet?

***

Madam Pomfrey

She wondered how it was possible that this patient's wounds healed as quickly as they did. Could it have something to do with the regenerative powers of werewolves? Remus's self-inflicted bites and scratches had always healed relatively fast after his nights in the Shrieking Shack. But he was bitten years before he came to Hogwarts. Didn't the first bite take weeks to heal? Poppy realised she'd need to consult her medimagical literature, though she seemed to remember Remus had told her once that 'half of the stuff written about werewolves is untrustworthy'.

At his request for food she left to order two dinners from the house-elves; when she returned the bandages around Mr. Felagund's wrists had disappeared as well. But those wounds had not been inflicted by animal jaws, as Poppy had known since she had set eyes on his torn, bleeding body last night. Time to ask a few questions. After a slight hesitation she indicated the scabbed wrists. 'Could it be - and please tell me if I'm being obtrusive - were you tied up or chained before your sudden and inexplicable appearance in our dungeons?'

'Yes,' he replied, closing his eyes, but not before she had seen them darken.

'Do you want to talk about it?'

'I cannot.'

'It was bad, then?'

Poppy began to think he had not heard her when he replied, very softly: 'It is bad.' His shoulders set. The message was clear enough: she had trespassed and stumbled on something grim, and he turned her away.

'I'm sorry to hear that,' she murmured. In the ensuing silence, the weird idea that this man was the infamous Azkaban escapee Sirius Black in an ingenious disguise tried to insinuate itself into her mind. She had never heard of Azkaban inmates being shackled, what with the Dementors to keep an eye on them, but maybe they'd made an exception for a mortally dangerous man like Black... However, Madam Pomfrey was supposed to be a level-headed, competent woman. She refused to succumb to this kind of paranoia.

Looking up she saw how Mr. Felagund began to unwind the bandage around the bite wound on his left arm. This injury was more serious, and she shook her head. 'You had better leave that to me -' she started to say when there was a knock at the door.

It was the house-elf Dribbly, arriving from the kitchen with lightning speed and dinner. Just the distraction her patient needed.

Tasting all the twelve dishes set before him and eating most of them he began to inquire about the elves. Soon Poppy found herself chatting away about the various races, from the homely house-and-garden variety found at Hogwarts to the mysterious, otherworldly and dangerous Sidhe. He was keenly interested, and she remembered his pointed ears, but it seemed impolite to ask him if he was distantly related to a bunch of undersized, unglamorous creatures dressed in rags and tea-towels, that considered themselves born to serve.

(TBC)