Hope for the Werewolf

Werewolves have existed for thousands of years. Full moon after full moon the wolves overtake their human selves, and many go forth and infect others. Lycanthropy is contagious, transferable through bite. It has also been established that victims of attack by claws rather than by teeth retain wolf-like qualities but do not transform at the full moon. However, due to widespread fear of werewolves, no werewolf offspring have yet been produced. How perfectly terrifying, then, that my child should be the first.

Remus tapped at the open journal in front of him with the tip of his quill. He'd been positively distracted since Nymphadora had informed him of their impending bundle of joy. He had been excited until he'd realized the implications. What was going to happen to the child in terms of lycanthropy? Would he be born with the dratted disease, or wasn't it transferable by way of genetics? While most expectant parents worried that their children might be born with physical deformities or mental handicaps, Remus had to worry about whether his baby would transform into an infectious, snarling beast every full moon. And if the child were born a werewolf, what kind of pain - physical and mental - and persecution would the future hold for him?

Remus remembered all too well being a child infected with lycanthropy. No friends. No compassion from the world. How hard it had been to grow up that way. Just imagining that his child might be subjected to the same kind of life was enough to suck the last bits of color from Remus' shaggy hair.

Worse, there was no hope of relief from his torment. No child of a lycanthropic parent had ever been produced. He would have no answers until his baby arrived.

Nymphadora managed to conceal any concerns she may have had about the child's health well. After recovering from mind-blowingly awful (and messy) morning sickness she began to bustle around, preparing their humble apartment for the baby's arrival. As her middle expanded the apartment became increasingly organized, baby-safe, and painstakingly clean. Remus found himself ousted from his office and forced to make base in a remote corner of the living room, and the once-businesslike office was transformed into a pastel wonderland of yellows, greens, and blues.

Though, while it was all very exciting, Remus could not untangle the growing knot of worry in his heart. Coupled with his usual irritability near full moons, Remus' snarkiness rivaled Tonks', and the apartment was often more an organized, baby-safe, painstakingly clean war zone than anything else. Remus and Nymphadora made it through the pregnancy intact, however, and finally the big day arrived.

Remus was only vaguely aware of his surroundings and the fact that he and Tonks were breaking one another's hands. He dutifully mopped the sweat from her brow and encouraged her as she labored. His own shirt became soaked with perspiration and his heart pounded so violently he feared he'd pass out and miss the baby's debut into the world. He managed to stay conscious, however, and when the child emerged he was overcome with all the joy a new father is wont to feel. He laughed aloud and kissed his panting mate enthusiastically, then promptly dissolved into tears as his new son or daughter - he couldn't tell from where he was standing - let out their first robust wail.

The midwife declared that the baby was a girl, cleaned her off, and handed her to Nymphadora, who seemed to have forgotten all about the blinding pain she'd been in moments before. Remus was overtaken by emotion at the sight of mother and child, and forgot, for one glorious moment, about his fear of the baby having his disease. He thought her to be ridiculously beautiful and utterly flawless.

A few hours later, after everyone had calmed down and been lulled nearly to sleep by the sudden absence of adrenaline, a simple test was performed on the daughter Lupin. She was declared to be free of the disease which had plagued Remus all his life, and Remus was finally free to be completely and incandescently happy.

Lycanthropy is truly a curse. Incurable, brutal, and contagious by the most vicious of means, it destroys lives. Those infected are persecuted and feared despite their dispositions as humans or the increasing use of the Wolfsbane potion. However, a curse does not have to be all-consuming. Those afflicted with the disease have options, however few. And if they are fortunate enough to find love, they may now take comfort in the knowledge that their sickness will not be passed on to their children. Finally, there is hope for the werewolf.