icarus

Minerva McGonagall was thankful. Her last class to teach for the day was the Gryffindor seventh years, and she needed the quiet of her planning period to store her worries in sensible places. So she set to clearing her classroom of the day’s accumulated chaos. Catch a stray mouse over here, fold a forgotten cloak over there. Remus Lupin was a sensible young man, no matter the phase of the moon. Sirius Black never forgot to push every bound she set. James Potter always had something to say, and Peter Pettigrew left his nerves on full display. Scourgify the spill of pumpkin juice near the lectern and spare a thought for the clumsy Hufflepuff first-year who upset it with his elbow and left the class without seeing. Over the course of their seven years in her house, Minerva liked to think that she’d come to know the four Marauders, each troublesome and also good-hearted in their own ways, like the back of her hand. So what to make of this confusion (delusion) in Remus, this Sirius meeting the moment, this grave and silent James, this Peter; hands still at his sides?

They are growing up, of course; they’re growing stronger and more adept with experiences. But they shouldn’t be made to grow up this way. It should not be wolf nor war nor wizard’s magic so built for beauty instead used for power and pain to steal these children across the threshold to adulthood. No – Minerva McGonagall would not stand for it. So she sat, weary and facing the other half of the classroom’s mess still there for her to clean.

The Marauders, on the other hand, hadn’t moved much in the thirty or so minutes since classes let out for the day. Once Peter shut McGonagall’s door behind them, Remus slid to the ground and sat with his back against the cold, slick subway tiles – not every wing of Hogwarts was as picturesque as the ones they keep open for Parents’ Day – and apologized. I’m sorry about this, you lot have other places to be, I’m learning, I’m doing I’m seeking I’m try–

“No apology, Remus, no apology.”

Remus graced James with a nod but kept on with his fearful litany; his mumbled collection of I’m not who I used to be and I know this is killing me and I’m learning; I’m learning how to change it but I’m not who you fell in love with and I’m sorry I’m not who you fell in –

“Remus, you’re the same stodgy bastard you’ve been since you were eleven. Perhaps a little more morose than usual because you happen to be fighting something that’s so much more to you than you’re used to. I know it’s hard, I know you’re doing your best, and I also know this is temporary, so I won’t have you apologizing for letting me love you.”

Sirius knew by this point to say his piece forcefully but also calmly, to indicate to Remus that his force is the force of love empowered and not the half-tempered exasperation Remus sometimes misreads it to be. But Remus just gave him a small nod before looking down at his feet – doing everything to keep it together while the physical strain of the moon and the recent damage he’d been doing to his own body became harder to hide.

James and Peter, for their parts, quickened their pace towards the hospital wing, as such forcing the other two Marauders to comply. With one eye each open to their best friends’ unfoldings, the other on the hallway ahead, and the occasional, well-placed guidance of a hand pressing on an arm or a subtle shift in gait, they found a rhythm. They made their way.

And so it was that Remus found himself once again dropped off by his friends to a hospital bed and the care of a healer who, though he was the definition of professional obligation to her, had found it in her heart to love him. Would it be enough, to carry him through whatever these next years held for him as an adult werewolf? Would it be enough, along with the love of his friends, to carry him through tonight?

After his friends gave their encouragements and said their final goodbyes (which, given Sirius was involved, took time and plenty of flourish), Madame Pomfrey dosed Remus with a round of potions for the pain – and perhaps the delirium as well, though he didn’t have it in him to ask or refuse. She dabbed the sweat from his brow and frowned when her hand, examining, found his ribs peeking sharply through his robes.

“It seems you’ve lost more weight since last time, my dear, and I’m beginning to worry that this is becoming a pattern. What has been going on? Is it the stress of graduation? Exams?”

Remus winced, because the reason was none of those things, and he knew he couldn’t address her concern with honesty. The fear was hard to explain, and always seemed to bring about more questions. So he closed his eyes and willed that Pomfrey would leave him alone until it was time to go.

Pomfrey got the message, and reached to pat his arm before leaving him be. Remus, absolved not of guilt nor its purer form gratitude, found her hand and squeezed it twice (Thank. You.) and fell soundly asleep before she reached her office door.

By the time he was alone in the shack, Remus felt peace. Sirius said it was strange, the night he shared that he often felt peace before his transformation. But Remus was well-acquainted with this pain; it was no more than a tunnel for him to pass through. And he knew this experience of feeling peace with familiar pain was far more universal than the rest of the world cared, or felt they needed to, acknowledge. Everyone had their own brand of formulaic agony.

Remus’ friends arrived under the cloak about five minutes before moonrise, ready to shield him with the help of their carnal souls. He lifted a fist in a barely-recognizable attempt at hello, but they seemed to understand what he meant. He looked up for a moment to see James’ antlers just taking shape. Then his body began its writhing and soaking in sweat – such usual, unusual things – and Remus held onto the last tendrils of his mind for just one moment more. A strong young man, they would say of him: he never lost the light.