Of Wolf and Wizard

It wasn't until Thursday that Remus really began to feel the effects of the moon. He'd begun to feel a bit sluggish at the start of the week, but because of his excitement at being involved with everything that was going on at Hogwarts, his normal fatigue had been tempered into a mild laziness. Nevertheless, after having gone to bed early on Wednesday night (which he'd attributed to a rapidly spreading new disease commonly known as Too Much Homework Syndrome), he woke up on Thursday morning to find that it would take more than the usual effort to force his limbs to move.

On days like this, his mother had always woken him up, asked how he felt, and in response to his near-incoherent grumblings allowed him to skive off school and sleep as late as he wanted. This morning, however, he felt certain that this was not going to happen. First of all, his mother wasn't there - and second of all, there was the small matter of the pillow.

Guided by James Potter's hands, the pillow thumped down upon Remus' head for perhaps the fourth or fifth time. "Remus Lupin Remus Lupin Remus Lupin!" cried James as Remus tried in vain to ignore the blows. "Get up! You're gonna be late!"

Thump, thump.

"Stoppit, Potter," mumbled Remus. "Not getting up."

"But you'll miss breakfast," said James urgently.

"And that way," added Peter, "you won't be able to sneak anything to keep you awake during History of Magic."

Remus gave a little grunt of assent - Peter did have a point, after all. As they'd discovered the hard way during their first week at school, it was almost impossible to stay awake during Professor Binns' lectures without a little sustenance to help them along.

But there still remained the fact that Remus didn't want to move. "Not getting up," he repeated for lack of anything more innovative to say, and buried his face in his own much safer pillow in order to avoid the significantly more dangerous one in James' hands.

James' pillow delivered yet another blow to the back of Remus' head. "Yes you are, Lupin," he said, but Remus didn't move. "All right, Pete," said James with a theatrical sigh, "get your wand ready - we're going to have to force him."

This got Remus' attention, since the thought of ending up with another strange new appendage did not appeal to him. "Don't!" he said, and Peter laughed. Remus raised his head up and saw his friends through bleary eyes, one brandishing a wand and the other a pillow. But aside from them, the room was empty - evidently the other boys had already left.

James tossed the pillow back onto his own bed. "Come on," he said, his voice losing none of its overly dramatic intensity, "breakfast has started already."

Remus gave an expansive yawn as he climbed out of bed and stood on legs that didn't feel entirely stable. "All right," he said, "I'll be down in a minute."

"Oh no," said Peter. "If we leave, you'll go right back to sleep."

"And you can't sleep today," continued James excitedly. "We've got Flying first thing!"

"Urgh," said Remus. Normally he quite liked flying, whether in a class or no, but he had the distinct feeling that it would not be a particularly enjoyable experience today. He sat back down on the edge of the bed.

Peter frowned and lowered his wand. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Not really," said Remus truthfully, and his two friends exchanged a glance.

"All right," said James after a moment, "but you know you'll get in trouble if you don't come to class. Or if you're really that sick, you should go to the hospital wing...."

"No, no, I'll come," said Remus, standing up again and beginning to gather his clothes together. "I'm just tired, that's all."

Breakfast was already half over by the time the three Gryffindor boys arrived in the Great Hall. Nevertheless, all three still found time to eat their fill and snag some extras before heading out onto the lawn for Flying.

At the sight of all those broomsticks lined up in a row, Remus felt his stomach turn over - and at that moment he knew for certain that he would not be able to make it into the air without throwing up. So while the rest of his classmates took their time laying their schoolbags against the wall and choosing their brooms, Remus approached the teacher, a tall brown-haired witch called Madam Windham. "Excuse me," he said.

"What is it?" she said with a smile, which faltered as she saw his face. "Goodness, Remus, you look awfully pale. What's wrong? Do you need to go and see Madam Pomfrey?"

"It's nothing," he said quickly. "I've just got a bit of a stomach ache. Would it be all right if I just watched today?"

"Of course, of course...."

Remus went gratefully over to the wall and slumped down among the bags. Most of the other Gryffindors, who were now lined up beside their brooms and awaiting instructions, didn't seem to notice. Only James gave him a pitying look, and Remus smiled at his friend before the latter turned back to his broom.

The class swooped and soared above Remus' head as he watched, grateful that his father had already taught him a lot of the basic broomstick manoeuvres that Madam Windham was now demonstrating to the class. His stomach had settled now that he no longer had to worry about leaving the ground, and he nibbled idly on one of the pieces of toast from the stack that he'd taken at breakfast.

As he watched his classmates perform graceful (and in some cases not so graceful) loop-the-loops in the air, he thought back to his very first conversation with James, almost two weeks ago on the train, and how they'd both been looking forward to trying out for the house Quidditch team. Both of them had been disappointed upon finding out over the weekend that while there was an opening for a new Chaser on the Gryffindor team, first years were not allowed to try out. Rather, Remus was the one who had been disappointed; James, on the other hand, had yelled a substantial number of colorful expletives right in the middle of the common room, and then proceeded to seek out their Head of House and complain about the unfairness of the matter.

Remus hadn't been there when it happened, but according to James, Professor McGonagall had said in no uncertain terms that there was a very good reason for that particular rule, and only in extreme circumstances would it ever be broken. "But she wouldn't tell me what the reason was," James had concluded irritably. "I don't think there's a good reason at all."

At the time Remus had fervently agreed with James, but now that he thought about it, he wasn't entirely sure that he'd want to be on a Quidditch team with six players who were older than he was. He'd never played real Quidditch before, so he wouldn't be nearly as good as any of them, and it would almost certainly end up being very embarrassing. On the other hand, if he wasn't that good to begin with, they probably wouldn't let him join the team in the first place, thus eliminating the possibility of embarrassment. In an odd way, this was a comforting thought.

But he still couldn't help wondering if James might just be good enough to make the team. Remus couldn't help but equate his friend's enthusiasm for the sport with a natural ability to play it, though he had no proof of his assumption. Still, Quidditch skills or no, it had been easy to see in their first few classes that James was a natural talent at flying.

Settled comfortably against the wall between two schoolbags, Remus watched his classmates in contemplative silence, feeling himself grow more and more content by the minute. Finally, the tempting fog at the back of his eyes finally overtook him, and he fell asleep.

"You stole it!"

Remus jerked awake at the high-pitched shout. "No I didn't!" he said automatically, before his mind had even had a chance to process the accusation. He blinked several times, his eyes still adjusting back to the sunlight that shone through the crisp autumn sky.

"I didn't mean you, Remus," said the girl standing who was standing over him. He recognized her as Trilby Grenville, a short mousy-haired girl who seldom raised her hand during their lessons but usually had quite a few things to say during meals. The girl at whom Trilby was now pointing her wand was Anastasia Ruben, a freckled brunette who wore glasses and pigtails. "I meant her," continued Trilby.

"What did she steal?" said James eagerly as the rest of the first year Gryffindors put their broomsticks away and came over to retrieve their bags. Remus stood up as casually as if he'd been awake the whole time and simply awaiting his classmates' return.

Trilby lowered her voice into a whisper that was almost a hiss: "My hairbrush."

Peter snorted, then tried to look as though he hadn't.

Anastasia laughed a bit nervously. "Why in the world - no, how in the world could I do that, when I was up in the air with the rest of you?"

"How should I know? Just give it back. I know you took it. I saw you staring at it when I was brushing my hair at breakfast...."

Anastasia's face adopted a thoroughly bemused expression. "I was just wondering why anybody would want to brush her hair that much."

"She's got a point, Grenville," said James, and both girls glared at him.

"Trilby," called another voice from several feet away. "Is this brush yours? The one on the ground over here?"

With a horrified expression, Trilby dashed through the group of Gryffindors toward the source of the voice. A red-haired girl named Lily Evans was holding the stray hairbrush in her hand - Trilby snatched it with a few mumbled words of thanks.

"Nice way to break up the fun, Evans," said James. Lily merely shrugged as she picked up her bag and joined the rest of their classmates, who were filing indoors for their History of Magic lesson.

"Nice way to break up the fun, Evans," came a mockingly high-pitched voice from behind James.

"Shut up, Wacky Blacky," said James, turning toward the boy in question.

Sirius shook his head sadly. "Sorry, Pottyhead, your friend Loopy already thought of that one. No creativity points for you."

James scowled as Sirius bounded after the others. "Doesn't anything get to him?" he said.

"Suppose not," said Peter resignedly, and the three friends headed towards the door.

Remus remained silent. After his brief encounter with Sirius in the corridor outside the Owlery, he knew that there was indeed something that could get to him, but somehow he felt that it wasn't a thing that should be thrown about at random. Especially since he had no great desire to see Sirius repeat the reaction that he'd had that day - it had almost been frightening.

"Well," said James, "is everyone armed and ready for Binns' class?"

Remus patted the front pocket of his schoolbag, wherein he had stored an entire stack of toast, wrapped in a napkin. Peter grinned, and James nodded. "Right then," said Peter. "Let's see who can stay awake the longest."

But as they discovered that day, no matter how well prepared you were when you went to History of Magic, it was almost impossible to stay completely awake and attentive during one of Professor Binns' lectures. The elderly man droned on and on, causing Remus to wonder if he ever stopped to take a breath; indeed, the words seemed to flow lazily out of Professor Binns' mouth with a steady sluggishness that was more potent than a Draught of Living Death. After about half an hour of keeping his senses comparatively alert with toast (and wondering how many lessons it would take before he was altogether sick of toast), Remus found himself staring blankly out the window, lingering just this side of sleep. Beside him, James was drawing grotesque faces on his parchment - and on James' other side, Peter had already nodded off.

Remus somehow managed to get through the entire lesson without actually falling asleep, but the droopy haziness that settled over him during the lecture didn't go away either at lunch, where James "accidentally" flung mashed potatoes into Sirius' ear, or during Defence Against the Dark Arts, where he normally might have found the lecture on minor wounding hexes fairly interesting. Nor did it go away that evening in the common room, when Sirius took his revenge on James with a simple trick involving a well-positioned Dungbomb.

One of the older students performed an Air-Cleansing Spell with a muttered comment about "immature little first-years," which Sirius ignored as he ran, laughing, up to the dormitory.

"Ew," announced James as he came over to sit with Remus and Peter, who were helping each other look up information for their Herbology essays.

"Tough luck," said Remus, trying his best to sound sympathetic although he barely glanced up from his work.

"Tough luck?" repeated James. "That's all? He threw a Dungbomb at me!"

Peter looked up with a grin. "So? You threw potatoes at him, didn't you?"

James looked furious, but before he could say anything, Remus added, "And he didn't throw it. You sat on it. Big difference."

"There's also a big difference between potatoes and Dungbombs!" hissed James, his eyes growing cold as he looked back and forth between his two friends. "Mashed potatoes are just a food fight - happens all the time. Dungbombs are--"

"Dungbombs mean war?" finished Remus. He set his quill down on the table and looked James squarely in the eye, finally allowing some of his annoyance to creep into his voice. "That's not the point. The point is that you started it."

"Me?"

Their corner of the common room fell silent as Remus and James stared each other down. After a few long moments, James sank down in the nearest chair with a studied gesture of defeat. "Fine," he said. "Take his side again. I figured you would, seeing as he said you two had a lovely conversation in the Owlery this weekend."

Remus saw the expression on Peter's face transform from confusion to shock, and for some reason that made him even angrier than James' words had done. He picked up his books, parchment, and quills, and started toward the staircase - but as soon as he put one foot on the bottom stair, a second thought made him turn back toward James. "Look," he said, not really caring if anyone else in the common room heard him, "it's none of your business who I talk to, all right? And even if Ear Boy or Wacky Blacky or whatever his name is... even if we did have a 'lovely conversation,' which we didn't, I don't see why you should care! I'm not your... your minion, James Potter!"

With that he turned and stomped up the stairs, ignoring Peter's small voice behind him, asking what a minion was. He stomped through the hallway, stomped into the dormitory, slammed the door behind him, and sat down on the bed with as loud a noise as possible so as not to disrupt his own foul mood.

"You want a Dungbomb too, Loopy Lupin?" came an almost friendly voice from the other side of the room. Remus twisted around and saw Sirius' head poking out from behind his half-drawn bed curtain.

"Shut up," he said.

Sirius chuckled and withdrew behind the curtain. "As you wish, Sir Loopy."

Remus waited for him to follow this up with some sort of witty comment, but Sirius had fallen silent, and all that could be heard was the light rustle of Danny Liang turning the pages of a book over in the other corner. This was wrong. When you told someone to shut up, they were supposed to argue with you so that you could say something good and threatening, and really shut them up. Sirius obviously didn't understand this.

Remus glared at the curtain that cut Sirius off from the rest of the room, and after another moment he said to it, "You didn't have to make James sit on that Dungbomb."

"I know," said Sirius serenely.

Another silence. Danny looked up with mild interest, and Remus fought the urge to growl at both of them.

"Why are you so bloody annoying?" said Remus rather vehemently.

"Why are you so bloody annoyed?" rejoined Sirius.

This time Remus gave in and let out a noise that was half-shout, half-growl. Danny flinched visibly and returned to his book

Sirius poked his head round the curtain again. "What's got into you?" he said, his apparent amusement irking Remus even more.

"Maybe it's just the full moon," said Remus sardonically as he got up and started to change into his pyjamas. "I'm going to bed."

"Good night!" said Sirius in a voice that sounded positively cheerful. "But just so you know, the full moon's not till tomorrow."

Remus didn't even bother to reply to this. Of course the full moon's not till tomorrow, you stupid git, he thought as he pulled the blankets up to his neck. He couldn't help thinking that if Sirius knew what he really was, he wouldn't be so eager to make fun. The thought gave him a strange feeling of secret power: nobody would make fun of you if they knew you were a werewolf. They might not like you either... but they almost certainly wouldn't make fun of you.

* * * * *

Friday dragged along at an impossibly slow pace, but by the time he reached Professor McGonagall's classroom at the end of the day and slumped into his seat feeling as heavy as a boulder, Remus couldn't believe that the full moon was already upon him. Even with all the preparations and private lessons, he had come to think of Hogwarts as a sort of safe haven from his normal life, and it didn't seem right that he should have to go through the same monthly ritual here as he did at home. Especially not when he had much more important things to worry about - like his fellow Gryffindors.

He sat alone in all of his lessons on Friday because there wasn't anyone that he wanted to sit next to. More than that, he was sure that there wasn't anyone who wanted to share his company. Sirius wasn't speaking to him because he had no reason to do so. James wasn't speaking to him because he still felt betrayed over the Dungbomb incident. Peter wasn't speaking to him because James wasn't. Danny wasn't speaking to him because Remus' rare show of temper the night before had probably scared him. And Andy wasn't speaking to him because Andy really didn't speak to much of anyone anyway.

All this, Remus felt, was a very good reason to be upset. So he glowered at nobody in particular as he waited for the lesson to begin, at least as much as he could glower, given that he was having a hard time staying awake in the first place. In fact, he was in the middle of stifling a particularly large yawn when Professor McGonagall strode in. The rest of the first year Gryffindors, who had trickled in over the past few minutes, grew quiet and attentive as she surveyed the room and silently counted the students. She nodded, satisfied that everyone was present, but then her eyes fell on Remus.

"Are you feeling quite all right, Mr. Lupin?" she said, the slightest hint of worry in evident in her voice.

Remus nodded, sitting up a little straighter in his chair, but she seemed unconvinced. "Perhaps you'd be better off if you went up to see Madam Pomfrey," she suggested, meticulously arranging her books and quills on her desk just as if this happened every day.

"But..." Remus trailed off. Nothing that he wanted to say could be said in front of the eleven other people in the room, so instead he said nothing at all, looking instead at his teacher as if she would somehow read his mind.

Naturally, she couldn't do that. "Yes," she said, "I think that would be best after all. Of you go, Mr. Lupin."

Confused and more than a little worried, Remus quietly gathered his things and left the classroom, studiously ignoring the eleven - no, twelve - pairs of eyes that he was certain were staring at him as he went. She doesn't think I can do it, he thought angrily as he followed the series of corridors and staircases that led up to the hospital wing. (The route was somehow much easier to navigate during the day.) She doesn't think I can handle being a werewolf and being in school at the same time....

He was still glowering when he reached the hospital wing.

Remus could see two occupied beds as he lingered in the doorway; an older girl was sitting in one of them and reading, and in the other a smaller figure was covered in blankets and, from what Remus could see, sleeping. Madam Pomfrey was bent over this latter patient, as if administering some sort of potion. The sight of her somehow comforted Remus, and he took a few tentative steps into the room.

"Madam Pomfrey?" he ventured.

She turned and smiled at him. "Oh good," she said. After whispering a few unintelligible words into the ear of the student under the blankets, she came over to the door and gave Remus her full attention, pressing a hand against his forehead and cheek probably more out of habit than anything else. "I told Minerva that you should come up here right away, but would she listen? No, no, she never listens - but I'm glad she changed her mind. You look terrible."

Remus frowned. "You told her to send me here?"

As she ushered him through the rows of beds toward the far wall of the room, she chuckled. "Of course I did. Just look at you! I knew you'd be in bad shape, what with..." She shook her head and didn't finish the sentence, for which Remus was glad - either of the other two patients could very well be listening.

Madam Pomfrey pulled back one of the curtains that covered the back wall, and opened the door that lay behind it. Beyond the door was a small room with just enough space for a bed and a small table that was, for some reason, on wheels. Closing the door as they stepped inside, the Healer explained, "I usually reserve these rooms for contagious cases - don't look at me like that, Remus, I know you're not contagious. I just thought that it would be better to let you have your own room, so that nobody will bother you."

He smiled as he looked around the room, pleased to have found someone who seemed genuinely concerned with his well-being. However....

"Why did you tell Professor McGonagall to send me up here before my lessons were over?" he said, turning an accusing eye on the Healer.

She looked more than a little surprised. "Why, I should think that might be obvious. You look like you could sleep for days! It must be awful to try to sit through your lessons when you're feeling like that...."

He had to admit that she had a point, but he still didn't like the idea of Professor McGonagall saying in front of the class that she didn't think he could handle one more lesson. Suddenly, though, this problem was no longer at the forefront of his mind, for Madam Pomfrey had said something that rather intrigued him.

"Did you say 'when you're feeling like that'?" said Remus slowly, unsure as to whether he should be defensive or merely curious about the matter. "How do you know how I'm feeling?"

She gave him a smile that seemed almost motherly. "You're not the first werewolf I've ever met, Remus. When I was in training at St. Mungo's there were quite a few of your kind - they would transform in the reinforced rooms when they had nowhere else to go. In and out every month, right on schedule."

"You've met other werewolves?" breathed Remus, dumbfounded.

"You haven't?" she said, seemingly just as surprised as he.

He shook his head almost shyly. "No, never. I mean... I suppose I sort of met the one who bit me, if getting the bite counts as a meeting. But I don't remember him at all." He thought about this for a moment, then added, "I don't even know who he was."

The young Healer's brow creased and she studied his face, almost as if trying to see something more than what was there. He shifted restlessly. "Well," she said quietly, "you'd better get a few hours' rest, don't you think?" She gestured to the bed. "I'll wake you when it's time to go."

She slipped out the door, leaving him alone in the dim candlelight of the small room. He was sure he ought to go to sleep, but as luck would have it, he felt more awake now than he had all day.

Madam Pomfrey had met other werewolves. The thought astounded him, although he couldn't quite figure out why - after all, he'd always known that there were others like him. But his parents had always treated his condition as a very private affair, something that was personal to Remus alone and should be discussed only within the immediate family, so he had always assumed that other werewolves must feel the same way. Somehow he couldn't imagine a group of werewolves (how many? five? fifty?) all gathering and talking about how this month's transformation had been. It just didn't fit.

Making up his mind to ask Madam Pomfrey later about what (and who) she had seen at St. Mungo's, Remus settled himself between the soft sheets. He couldn't see much of the sky outside his small window, but the tingling in his skin told him that it wouldn't be long at all until the sun set... and after that, until the moon rose.

Remus fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, only to be awoken a short time later by the sound of Madam Pomfrey's voice saying his name. His first instinct was to roll over and tell her to leave him alone - but it was only a matter of seconds before he realized the importance of getting up right away. "Is it time already?" he said, sitting up in the bed with eyes wide before they'd even adjusted to the light.

"No need to rush," she said in a soothing voice. "But we should go outside now, so you have plenty of time to get ready before the moon rises."

He nodded as mild anxiety slowly replaced his initial panic. With a deep resolute breath he climbed out of bed, putting on his strongest face as he adjusted his robes and followed Madam Pomfrey out of the hospital wing, out one of the side doors of the castle, and across the vast Hogwarts grounds. Colloportus, he thought firmly to himself as he approached the enormous willow tree. Alohomora. I can do this.

He calmed the branches of the tree by poking the hidden knot with a stray branch, just as the headmaster had instructed him to do. "Well," said Madam Pomfrey. "You just come right back to the hospital wing in the morning. Good. You have everything you need, then?"

An unpleasant churning sensation had begun to develop in Remus' stomach. "I don't need anything," he said, trying to lighten her mood with a tight smile. "Just the moon."

She glanced up at the sky, though he thought that it should have been perfectly obvious that the moon hadn't yet risen - if it had, he might have attacked her by now. The thought made him shiver. "I have to go," he said shakily, and slipped down into the tunnel without waiting for an answer.

Considering how often he had imagined a dark, dank tunnel beneath the earth, through which he'd have to crawl on his hands and knees to reach the abandoned house at the other end, he was almost disappointed to find a perfectly agreeable passageway awaiting him below the tree. While it might not have been downright pleasant, its earthen walls were clearly freshly cut and tightly packed, and the roof of the tunnel was high enough for a rather short eleven-year-old to stand up straight with a little room to spare. Remus wondered if the mysterious old house would prove just as boring.

After what seemed like forever, Remus reached the other end of the passageway. He honestly had no idea how far he'd come, but by now that was the last thing on his mind. The tingling in his skin had grown more acute, making him jumpy and nervous, and he was simply happy to be out of that long, tiresome tunnel. Pulling himself out through a door that opened into a dark room, he took a nervous breath - and nearly choked on the dust that filled his nose and mouth.

A couple of sneezes later, he was able to take in his surroundings. But there wasn't much to take in, as he'd arrived in a small room that was completely bare except for a carved chair in the far corner, which leaned against the wall at a strange angle. His first thought was to see if there were any interesting rooms in the house - but he quickly reminded himself that safety came first. He took out his wand and concentrated just as hard as he had with Professor McGonagall on Monday.

"Colloportus," he said. A wave of panic washed over him as the tunnel door merely gave a little shudder in its frame, but he calmed himself and prepared to try again. Ignoring the tingling, which had by now penetrated him deeply enough to cause the beginnings of a familiar pain, he recalled Professor McGonagall's instructions. Eyes open. Wand aimed directly at the door's hinges. Intense concentration....

"Colloportus!"

The door sealed itself shut with a satisfying squelch, and at the very same second the room lit up. Remus looked around, more than a little taken aback, but he could find no candles, no torches, nor nothing else that might have been a source of the faint bluish light. His curiosity growing by the moment, he approached the only object in the room, the chair in the corner, and touched it to see if it might give him a hint. But as soon as he tried to move it from its resting place against the wall, one of its thin legs cracked and gave way, causing the rest of the wood to collapse on the floor. The noise made Remus jump, and his already queasy stomach gave a thrill.

This is more like it, he thought.

He could feel the presence of the forthcoming change all throughout his body, but he knew that he still had at least a good fifteen minutes before moonrise. So he took off through another door, intending to see as much of the house as he possibly could before the pain prevented him from standing up. The weird blue light allowed him to see hallways decorated with peeling wallpaper, empty candle sconces draped in fine meshes of cobweb, and rooms of varying sizes: some completely empty, some bursting with furniture which Remus guessed must have been quite luxurious when it was new.

The whole place had an aura of age and disuse about it, and of course magic - new magic. There were boards covering every window, but Remus distinctly remembered Dumbledore telling him that enchantments had been used to reinforce the boards. And now that he thought about it, the strange light was probably the headmaster's doing as well. He could see no beginning or end to the area that the light encompassed, but somehow he had an uncanny feeling that it was following him, lighting just enough of the house for him to see at any given moment.

Whether or not that was truly the case, the very idea of a living light made the whole place seem even more surreal than it already was. Remus wandered in awe from room to room, trailing his feet along the floor to see the tracks that they made in the dust, leaning in close to study the intricate patterns carved on the tables and chairs, reading the titles of books that he found on the shelves along the walls, and above all not touching anything. The fragile chair in the first room made him wonder as to the state of the rest of the furniture, so for now he just left it alone and looked at the house from a safe distance, as though it were a museum. And he tried not to think that in just a few minutes, a ravenous beast might tear it all to shreds....

But he couldn't put the thought out of his mind for long. The tingling, now as sharp as needles, had spread through him like fire, cutting right to the bone. He felt it begin to squeeze at his heart, and he knew that he didn't have much time left. Slowly, painstakingly, he began to remove his clothes, just like he did at every full moon, so that the wolf's claws wouldn't shred them. As he did so, the air around him seemed to grow colder, not just in its temperature but in its very mood. He could feel the whole house leaning in to watch him, waiting to see what would happen next.

Remus found a high shelf in one of the near-empty rooms, blew some of the dust off it, and placed his clothes there. A sharp pang vibrated through his body, and his knees gave out. He sank to the wood-paneled floor, hunched over and breathing rapidly. The rising moon filled his senses with a pain beyond words, and though he tried to shut his eyes against it, it didn't abate. It gripped at his heart and lungs with a deadly force, and the last thing that his human mind heard was an ear-splitting shriek - but he couldn't tell if it was himself or the wolf.

* * * * *

The world swam slowly back into focus, and Remus was immediately aware of two things: he was on his hands and knees on a dusty floor, and he was awake. At first neither of these things made sense to him, and the slowly receding pain of the transformation made it hard to figure out why - or for that matter, to think at all. He concentrated hard, trying his best to put the pieces together.

He knew that he was in the old house at the end of the underground tunnel... and he knew that he was at Hogwarts, not at home. Which meant that his parents wouldn't come and get him, wouldn't wrap him up in a blanket and carry him upstairs, and wouldn't watch over him as he slept through the entire next day.

The fact that his parents wouldn't come was the first thing that finally did make sense, and yet somehow it still didn't - and that was why he was awake. Without the expectation of the routine, he didn't know what was supposed to happen.

Yes, he did! He was supposed to go back to the hospital wing and meet Madam Pomfrey.

But every muscle in his body screamed at the thought of moving, and he collapsed onto the floor, silently willing it to stop so that he could think clearly. Brave, he thought to himself. You're in Gryffindor. Be brave. Do something.

He raised his head slowly off the floor and looked dizzily around. Shadows of monstrous shapes loomed against the walls, illuminated by ghostly blue light. Just furniture, he thought, banishing the word "monstrous" from his mind. If he focused hard enough, he could see a bed covered with a canopy... a set of chairs, one of which was lying on its back... a small table, broken on the floor... a huge bureau... a door....

A door, he realized, and a sudden spark of hope gave him enough strength to pull himself up almost to a sitting position.

"Alohomora," he said, but his voice escaped his hoarse throat as little more than a croak. "Alohomora!" he repeated desperately.

But then he recognized that this wasn't the right room; the room through which he'd come hadn't had anything in it besides a single chair. And that must have been why the spell hadn't worked: it simply wasn't the right door.

But how could he possibly find the right door? A new wave of nausea hit him as he realized that he had no idea where he was. He hadn't even seen the entire house before the moon had risen, so for all he knew he was lost in some remote corner of a house as big as Hogwarts Castle itself. He began to think wildly of ways in which he might be able to find the room with the single chair, but each idea made less sense than the last. In a house that he didn't even know, and at a time when he could barely move, how could he even begin to search?

"Alohomora!" he shouted at the door, more out of frustration than anything else, and still nothing happened.

Even as the house echoed the word back at him, Remus realized something else. The reason that the spell wasn't working had nothing to do with the fact that it was the wrong door. Rather, it was because his clothes were lying on a shelf somewhere in this maze of a house.

And his wand was in the inside pocket of his robes.

Remus laughed.

It was a harsh, papery noise, unfamiliar even to his own ears, but no matter how discordant it sounded, he couldn't stop it. He fell down onto his back, laughing so hard that he felt it might break him apart - laughing until the laughter left of its own accord and the shadows of tearless sobs began to rack his already battered frame instead. When he saw blackness sneaking up on him through the corners of his vision, he slipped into it gratefully, not even daring to wonder how and when he would ever wake up.