The Shade

     Autumn was seemingly nonexistent that year, the lovely golden days of late-summer September transitioning quickly to frigid storms and flat, grey days in November. Weeks of freezing rain poured in sheets down the windows, and doused students and staff alike when they ventured out onto the grounds. Remus awoke on December first to a dormitory lit by the cold, colorless glow of the window. When he pushed back the covers, he shivered.

     “Bloody freezing in here,” Sirius was complaining from across the room. “Imagine having potions today, I’d die.”

     "At least it's not raining." Remus stood up, digging his school shirt from under a pile of clean socks. “D’you think I can get away with wearing a sweater under my robes?”

     “For history, at least,” James said. “I don’t think Binns has looked at a student and processed what they’re wearing since the fourteen hundreds at least. You’ll have to take it off for McGonagall, though.”

     “I’d take it off for Minnie,” Sirius said suggestively, and Remus chucked a pillow at him.

     “Don’t be disgusting,” he said, pulling his shirt up over his head, forgetting that he hadn’t worn an undershirt to bed. The jostling and teasing of the dormitory stopped, and the other boys stared. “Do you need something?” Remus asked.

     “Do you?” Peter replied, before clapping a hand over his own mouth.

     “What Peter means is, are you ok?” James asked, giving Peter a look.

     “What James means is, what the hell happened to you?” Sirius sounded horrified, and Remus supposed that wasn’t unreasonable. He had deep scars that followed his ribs from scratching himself during his transformations, his claws having attacked the insatiable itch of skin stretching over rapidly growing bone. On his chest, just below his collar bone, the gnarled scar tissue of the original bite stood out angrily on his fair, lightly freckled skin. Other, smaller scars were scattered here and there in between. It didn’t look good, that was for certain.

     “I told you all, I get sick easily,” Remus said impatiently, tugging on first his school shirt then a heavy, wool sweater his mother had knitted. “Sometimes I fall, or run into things. Pete, you saw me walk into that desk yesterday.”

     “Did you walk into a sphinx before that?” Sirius demanded, and James shushed him.

     “Remus’s health is his business,” he scolded, sounding so maternal Remus could have cried. “Let him be. If he wants to talk about it, he will.” He turned to Remus. “And if you want to talk about it, we’re here.”

     Sirius tried to protest, but Remus was already making his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He drowned out the sounds of James’s continued scolding by turning the water up as high as he could. He didn’t mind the scars as much as the way people reacted to them. The first time he’d gone to the local pool with his mother after being bitten the other children had refused to play with him, and the mothers had given him this pitying stare that was worse than being ostracized. From then on, he’d kept his shirt on.

     History of magic was classically boring, the chill of the classroom and Binns’s presence the only thing keeping Remus from faceplanting into his textbook. How a class taught by a literal ghost on the violent and bloody history of wizardry could possibly be made boring Remus couldn’t fathom, but here he was, watching Sirius stare so blankly that he’d begun to drool.

     Giving up on the lecture, Remus began reading his textbook and taking notes instead. It was easy to become invested in the bloody wars they were covering, Remus wondered if that was why they were taught to first years. His musings were interrupted by James passing him a note.

     hold your tongue and say ship

     Remus did, in a whisper, and snorted with laughter. He scrawled back:

     Hold your tongue and say apple.

     James wheezed with silent laughter and passed the note to Peter, who grabbed his tongue and mumbled to himself, then giggled and handed the note to Sirius.The four of them couldn't look at each other without chortling. Remus stared

      “When Leroy the Loud boarded the ship, he was assailed by cursed arrows,” Professor Binns droned.

     “Ship,” James whispered, and they all giggled.

     “There were crates of fruit being shipped from the exotic harbors beyond, and Leroy was determined to bring them back to his people-”

      “Think there were apples?” Remus mumbled. James covered his mouth with one hand, but Peter let out a high-pitched laugh that couldn’t be ignored. Binns blinked at him, slowly staring him down while Peter turned a shade of red seldom seen in human skin.

     “Detention, Mr Featherfew.” And then he continued, mind-numbingly on the misadventures of Leroy the Loud.

     “D’you think I still have to go if he doesn’t know my name?” Peter complained as they made their way to transfiguration.

      James patted him on the shoulder. “I think you need to work on the whole self-control thing,” he said wisely. "You can't just burst out laughing in the middle of class and expect the professors to ignore you.

     “Spoken like a man who makes an arse of himself every time he can see a girl,” Sirius teased. "It must have been nice to have a lesson without someone to show off for, eh?"

     “Man,” Remus scoffed from his other side.

     “It’s Remus’s fault!” Peter continued to whine, ignoring the trajectory of the conversation completely. “How was I supposed to keep it together? I was dyyying in there!”

      “Bummer, Pete,” Remus said with a shrug.

      “The rest of us managed just fine,” Sirius pointed out. “Anyway, how bad can detention with Binns really be? You can probably do your homework and take a nap. He might not even notice you’re there.”

      “Remus, can I borrow your notes?” Mary was beside them now, grinning. “I know you’re the only person immune to Binns.” Remus pulled his notes out and handed them to her. “What were you idiots laughing about, anyway?”

      “Leroy the Loud, obviously,” Remus said dryly. “Anyway, Mary, can you make a copy for Lily? Your handwriting’s loads better than mine.”

      “Sure thing,” she said. “She’s fine, by the way. If you were worried.”

      “Not worried,” Remus said. “I just noticed she wasn’t in class.”

      “Lady trouble,” James said sagely.

       “Let her hear you say that, I dare you,” Mary said, frowning. “Anyway, I’ll see you all in theory, later days.”

      “You’re lucky Lily wasn’t here,” Remus said. “She’d have murdered you.”

       “What a way to die,” James said, dreamily, half wandering to their next class where, if Lily joined them, he was likely to get murdered.

      “What’s that?” Sirius asked. They were sitting in the library that afternoon, just the two of them, across from one another. James was in detention for having threatened to forcibly bathe Snape while waving a foamy sponge and Peter was working on a potions project with some Slytherin boy that Remus didn’t know. They’d been mostly quiet so far, reading through notes and textbooks, scrawling down ideas in hastily inked lists. Remus always insisted on drafting his essays before writing them out, and Sirius was beginning to pick up on the habit now that he’d noticed how much less often Remus had to cross things out.

      “What’s what?” Remus asked, looking at his notes. Everything in front of him was pretty standard as far as he was concerned. Quills, ink, parchment, textbooks.

      Sirius pointed to the small leather-bound journal peeking out of Remus’s bag. “That!” he said. “You always have it with you. What is it?”

      “It’s a diary?” Remus plucked it from the bag and held it up so the cover faced Sirius. “You use them to write down dates and times, or talk about your feelings if that’s your thing?” He was confused. “Have you really never seen a diary before?”

      Sirius spluttered. “Of course I have! But what do you use it for? Do you write down homework in there? I’ve never seen you use it.”

      “That’s none of your business,” Remus replied, going back to annotating a text on the levitation of multiple items at once.

      “Oooh, so you use it to write about your feeeelings. Got it.” Sirius went back to working as well, and Remus ignored the weird feeling this gave him in the pit of his stomach.

       “Shut up,” he replied, a little belatedly, not looking up from his writing.

       “How are you feeling, though?” Sirius asked, concerned. “Not emotionally. You look exhausted.”

       “I feel exhausted,” Remus replied. “I’m ok though.”

       Sirius seemed to understand that he didn’t want to discuss it further. They worked in silence for a little longer, Sirius digging through stacks of texts to find a copy of the Standard Book of Spells, flipping irritably through the textbook until he found the chapter on the ethics of animal transfiguration.

      “Hey Remus?” Sirius asked, breaking their silence.

      “Mmm?” Remus replied, half-listening. He wasn't sold on the idea that transfiguring items into animals was ethical, even if you turned them back.

       “So I was just...I was reading this book.” Remus swallowed the urge to reply sarcastically about Sirius's literacy. He was uncharacteristically tense, and he kept fidgeting with his quill. “I was worried about you.”

       “Okay,” Remus replied. He wasn’t sure where this was going at all. "So..."

       “So I thought I’d do some research. Look into child abuse, find out more about what it can look like and how to help someone experiencing it.”

       Remus was exasperated. “Sirius, I’m not -”

       Sirius cut him off. “I was worried about you. I found this." He hefted a huge book out of his pile of notes. Parenting Magical Children in the Twentieth Century. "There's a lot of interesting stuff in here, you know? Did you know that babies can't consciously manipulate you? They just communicate their needs. Apparently that's true until you're several years old, actually. Mum always said Reg and I were manipulative, when we were small." He gave a strange, hollow little laugh. "I guess she never read this."

      Remus didn't say anything. He waited, still a little confused, for Sirius to continue.

      "I read about how violence and coercion are used to make children conform to a certain ideal. That hurting your kids for messing up or being wrong isn’t normal, apparently. And I read about competition between the children, how one is the scapegoat and the other is...not.” He took a steadying breath, and all at once Remus saw exactly where this conversation was headed. “I don’t know enough about your home life to know if you’re being abused,” Sirius said quietly. “But I think I am.”

       “Yeah,” Remus said quietly. “I kind of think you are too.”

       They were quiet for a moment, and Sirius looked like he was thinking hard. “I always knew she was mean, you know? But I didn’t realize that the rest of it isn’t normal. I’m not sure what’s normal, actually. James’s house sounds like a fairy tale, and I’m convinced Pete’s mom doesn’t exist with how little he talks about her. And you…” he trailed off. “I was so sure that you were sugar coating it too, you know? And you could be, with all those scars. But…”

       “But the way she treats you still isn’t normal,” Remus finished. “Do you want to talk about it? Can we do anything?”

       “Not really,” Sirius said. “I don’t even want to think about it, honestly. There are laws about this, according to the book anyway, but I have a feeling they don't exactly apply to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. The more reading I do in history of magic the more shit in my house I realize is illegal, so I guess no one cares if you're wealthy or powerful enough. Or something like that. But I needed to tell someone, you know?” Remus nodded. He knew all about needing to tell someone something, the ache of a painful secret sitting on his heart like it would burst. “I’ll let you know if I want to talk about it. Can you just...can you not mention it to the others?”

        “Of course,” Remus said. “I’m here for you though, okay? Just remember that, if you want to talk or something.”

        The following day was a full moon, and as usual Remus woke up with tense muscles, jittery nerves, and very little patience. At breakfast, Peter complained again about his solo detention with Binns that evening and Remus briefly visualized sticking a fork in the boy’s hand when he reached for the salt. Instead, he had an extra helping of french toast in hopes that the energy from it would tide him over. For the first time all year, he seriously considered skipping classes to keep his temper in check, but he knew the make-up work would outweigh the calm silent hours spent in the dorm. As the day wore on, his body grew more and more exhausted. He felt like his joints were loosening, like he was more rag doll than real boy. At dinner time, Remus nearly bolted for the hospital wing.

       “You didn’t eat Remus,” Madam Pomfrey said, without even turning to look at him. It wasn’t a question.

       “No, I didn’t,” he agreed. “I’ve felt awful all day.” He collapsed onto the nearest bed, still sitting upright but leaning his elbows on his knees, letting his head hang.

       “It could be the Cold Moon,” Madam Pomfrey considered, reading through the chart in front of her. “It could also be that there are two full moons this month. Do you usually have trouble with double moons?” Remus could only shrug. His parents had never tracked things quite as closely as Madam Pomfrey did. They knew when a full moon was coming and what to do when it arrived, that was about all. “Well, it’s something we’ll take note of going forward, dear. For now, I’ll summon your dinner for you. Have some water and relax.”

       He ate, rare steak and cold potatoes. It was hard to get enough iron right before the full moon and he found that rare meat was the only truly filling thing available. Madam Pomfrey had apparently made a note of that as well. It seemed that she made a note of everything, really. If he let her, he thought she might watch him eat and record how much he had, maybe even weigh him before and after. As it was, she tsked at him when she saw he hadn’t finished his potatoes, and he guiltily scarfed them down.

      When they made their way down to the passageway, he found himself looking up at the open evening sky. The air smelled like snow and frozen dirt and something warm. Remus felt startled by a sudden, nearly debilitating urge to run. It was like there was an echo in his brain. Come out, come out come out. Come here come here come here. Run run runrunrun. He felt like the inside of his brain itched, and the only thing that would scratch it was to bolt into the forbidden forest, seeking out the source of the sound inside his head.  Instead, he looked over at Madam Pomfrey.

       “I think there’s someone out there,” he told her nervously. She frowned, looking confused. “Other wolves, I mean.” He motioned to the forest. “Out there.”

       “Oh,” she said. “Oh.” She hurried him along, a protective hand on his back. “There have been werewolves in the forbidden forest before,” she told him. “I’ll speak with Professor Dumbledore about placing wards. We don’t need you losing any more fingernails trying to make friends.”

       Make friends, Remus thought. What a sweet way to look at it. He looked up fondly at Madam Pomfrey. She was the only person who had ever truly treated him like he was a person every day and every night, regardless of the moon phase. He didn't feel like a person now, though. He almost felt like prey.

       “Now you just get yourself in there and get comfortable, dear. I’ll close up behind you then go right to Professor Dumbledore.” She gave him a little squeeze and patted his back. “Have a good night.”

        “You too,” Remus replied awkwardly, watching the door close and feeling the wards go up around him. It made his skin crawl, the initial itch of magic made solely to enclose him in a space where he had no control. Usually the discomfort settled quickly, but tonight it was clinging to him, making him feel sick and claustrophobic. He sat down and undressed, folding his clothes and setting his shoes and socks beside them. No need to shred anything he’d need in the morning. Magic mended, but his mother had found the hard way that if something was mended enough times it tended to disintegrate. He sat, cold and anxious, feeling the pull and the call from somewhere unsettlingly near, and waited for the moonlight to overtake him.

       For the first time in his life, Remus awoke in a pool of blood. His own, he thought groggily, trying and failing to sit up, hands slipping in the wetness around him. What could he have done to himself? He ached all over, but there was a feeling like being burned at his throat, climbing up the side of his neck. The sun was rising outside, he could feel it in his skin. Would he die before Madam Pomfrey got here, or was he just being dramatic? His eyes closed again.

       The door opened with a creak. “Remus?” Madam Pomfrey called. He heard footsteps approaching cautiously. “Are you dressed, dear?” She climbed the stairs to the bedroom, stepping into his sight line, and screamed. Not being dramatic, then. Good to know. Oh, and naked too. Great.

       She was kneeling beside him, taking his pulse, turning his head gently to look in his eyes. “Can you hear me Remus?” she asked, her voice quiet, quavering.

       “Yeah,” he coughed out. “I’m ok, I just need…” He didn’t’ know what he needed, but he had to reassure her. She looked terrified. Drawing her wand, she murmured something, and a dove burst from the tip of her wand, flying out the window.

       “It looks like the worst of it is around your throat,” she told him, confirming what he thought he knew. “I’m going to close the wound, but I need you to be very still, even after it’s closed. We can’t risk you reopening it and losing any more blood. Can you do that for me? Blink twice for yes.”

       Remus blinked, and Madam Pomfrey held his hand in one of hers, using the other to point her wand at his throat. The skin burned and itched, and when he moved to scratch she squeezed his hand tighter. “Don’t move, love.”

       He coughed once, twice. “Am I going to die?” he asked her, and she squeezed his hand again, tighter.

       “No, Remus, not for a very long time. You’re going to need a lot more healing than usual, but you’ll be just fine. Just rest now, love.”

       Relieved, he let his eyes slip shut, unconsciousness overtaking him once again.

       “Albus, I told you the wards needed to be cast immediately! Look what he did to himself trying to get out when they called for him! He broke through a boarded up window, was knocked back by spell recoil, and nearly slashed his own throat on the broken glass! The poor boy was clawing it open until he turned back if the blood under his nails tells us anything. If he hadn’t told me last night that something was wrong, if I hadn’t come to check on him a little earlier than usual today, he’d have bled out alone in that dirty little shack and that blood would be on your hands! As it is now, clearly, because there he lies -” She broke off abruptly, and Remus was horrified to hear what sounded like a sniffle.

       Professor McGonagall’s voice broke in. “Poppy, sit down and drink some water. You’ve had a difficult morning. Albus.” She sounded expectant.

       Dumbledore sighed. “I was unable to set the wards safely, Poppy. It was too late. Were I to have walked out into the forest I would have simply encountered them myself, not protected Remus in the slightest. I’m so sorry, and I will apologize to Remus as well. This is a possibility we should have considered sooner. It’s likely that Greyback sent scouts to check on him, to take him away if they were able. Thankfully, the spells on the shack held and they were unsuccessful.”

       Remus heard a sob, and he felt incredibly uncomfortable. The idea of Madam Pomfrey crying made him sick to his stomach. He lay quietly, shutting his eyes and waiting for someone to open the curtain and check on him. It didn’t take long.

       “Remus, are you awake?” Madam Pomfrey was standing beside him, looking pale. He opened his eyes and nodded. “How are you feeling?"

       "Awful," he said honestly, lifting a hand to motion at his neck. "It burns."

       "Fresh skin over a wound to your muscles will do that, I'm afraid. I am sure you aren’t surprised to hear this, but you won’t be attending classes today. Blood replenishment potions take at least twelve hours for full effect, so you’ll need to rest until then. At that point your skin and muscles should be stable enough for you to leave, but only when I'm satisfied that you're ready to leave.”

      There was no arguing with that tone, and Remus didn't really want to anyway. What he wanted to do was sleep. Professor McGonagall stepped through the curtain.

      "Good morning Mr Lupin," she said, as if this were an ordinary day and he'd just stepped into her classroom. "If you’d like, I can send a student this evening with your classwork."

      “I don’t want to fall behind,” Remus said quietly.

      She gave him a thin smile. “I doubt that you will. You’re a strong student, and I have the utmost faith in you. In the meantime, though, you’ll need to rest.” She gave him a severe look. “No giving Madam Pomfrey any grief. I will see you in class on Monday.” He gave her an awkward little wave as she left.

       Another figure was behind the curtains, a tall and thin one. “May I come in, Remus?” Dumbledore asked gently. Madam Pomfrey bustled out, muttering about bandages and bedpans. Remus nodded, then realized that wasn’t a helpful reply.

      “Sure,” he said, and was embarrassed to hear his voice crack.

     Dumbledore sat on the wooden stool beside his bed. “It seems that you’ve had a traumatic morning. I’d like to apologize for that,” he said. “I am sorry I didn’t think to protect you from something like this sooner, and sorry I wasn’t able to implement a solution in time.” He bowed his head, looking aggrieved. “Going forward, the grounds will be warded in advance.”

        Remus found his voice. “It’s okay,” he said. “I heard you telling Madam Pomfrey. I understand. Is she...okay?”

       “Madam Pomfrey cares for you very deeply,” Dumbledore said. “Seeing you injured so gravely was very upsetting for her. But she takes great pride in the care she provides to her students, and healing you seems to be helping. As is,” he added, with a twinkle in his eye, “telling me off.”

       “She likes doing that,” Remus said with a grin. “But she’s usually right, so I don’t mind.”

       “Nor do I, dear boy,” Dumbledore said, then stood. “As Professor McGonagall said, you’ll need to rest. Try to get some sleep. And please let me know if you need any support, Remus. We’re here to help you.”

       With that, Remus was alone again. His thoughts spun in his brain, a bit incoherently. Those wolves had been there to see him, possibly to take him. Something about them had been impossible to ignore, to resist. He remembered hearing them, trying desperately to answer their call. Sighing, he relaxed into his pillow. These were thoughts for another time, when he was healthy and had slept long enough to get his head in order.

       For the second time that day, Remus woke up to the sound of yelling. This yelling, however, was not that of a frustrated witch standing up to an authority figure, but of a pre-teen boy who sounded like he was on the verge of a tantrum.

       “Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall said I had to deliver his notes!” Sirius whined.

       “Yes, and you’ve done your duty. I’ll take them and set them aside for him. He’s certainly not in any state to be working on homework now.”

      “She said to give them to him! Come on, he’s my friend. We’ve all been really worried!”

      “He’s sleeping,” Madam Pomfrey said. “And if you wake him -”

       “Too late,” Remus grumbled. “Did I miss dinner?”

       The curtains slid open, revealing a frustrated mediwitch and an agitated first year. “You haven’t missed dinner, your plate is right here,” Madam Pomfrey said, motioning to a tray on his side table. “And Mr Black would not leave until I offered him proof that you’re alive. Now that you have your proof…” she trailed off expectantly.

       “Can he stay for a few minutes?” Remus asked. “Please? Just until I’m done eating, then I’ll go back to sleep. I promise, I won't do anything more strenuous than eating.” He grinned at her.

       She looked at him severely for a moment, then relented. “Just until you’re done eating,” she confirmed, looking exhausted. “And I don’t want to hear you getting too wound up over there, boys. You’re not done healing yet.” She gave them both a stern look, then walked away.

       “Hey,” Sirius said with a grin, settling onto the stool Dumbledore had occupied that morning. “We missed you in class today, it was boring without you. How are you feeling?”

       “Awful,” Remus said honestly. He turned toward Sirius, and the blankets that had been tucked up tight to his chin shifted, revealing the unbandaged and still-healing scar at the base of his throat.

       “What the fuck is that?” Sirius yelped.

      “Shut up!” Remus hissed. “She’ll kick you out, especially if you talk like that.”

      “What the fuck is that,” Sirius demanded in a whisper, pointing at the raw, scabbed-over skin.

      “I haven’t seen it yet, so I couldn’t tell you,” Remus said tightly.

      “Are you going to tell me how that happened? Or are you just going to play it off like you got a little lightheaded and almost decapitated yourself?”

      Remus glared at him. “All I know is it hurts and I feel like shit. Can you please lay off? I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

      "Right, so you can come up with another story. Come on, Remus."

      "Do I look like I'm up to arguing with you right now?" Remus asked. "All I've eaten today is a blood replenishing potion, give me a break."

      “Fine,” Sirius snapped, then took a deep breath, staring him down. “We can talk about something else. Are you ready for the howlidays?”

       Remus blinked. “Excuse me?” He felt a little lightheaded suddenly.

      “You know. Yule, New Years. Do you celebrate Criss Miss at home since your mum is a muggle, or do you celebrate Yule? James was telling me that muggles have a whole different holiday, and -”

       “We do both,” Remus said. He was shaking, he must have heard Sirius wrong, there was no way he’d said that. “Mum takes me to her church, usually. It’s nice. Hogwarts usually does Christmas, right?”

       Sirius shrugged. “No one in my family has been allowed to stay for the holidays to find out. You’re supposed to be eating, don’t give Madam Pomfrey a reason to kick me out.” He set the tray on Remus’s lap and helped him sit the bed up so he could eat. Remus could feel him staring at his neck, but he didn’t try to ask again. They talked about the holidays, and what Remus had missed in class. Apparently Slughorn had said “orgasm” instead of “organism” and had to use a silencing spell to get the class to stop laughing at him. Remus cleaned his plate, and Madam Pomfrey gave them a good half hour before coming over to send Sirius away.

       “You’re going to miss curfew, and the last thing I want is to have to chase some poor prefect down to make excuses for you, Mr Black.” She shooed him toward the door.

      “Sirius?” Remus said uncertainly.

      He paused. “Yeah?”

      “Please don’t say anything.”

      “I won’t. You’ll have to do that yourself.”

      Remus couldn't be sure whether Sirius was talking about his wound or his secret, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know.