Full Moon
Year One: Full Moon
Remus spent most of his time indoors. He avoided the other boys from his dormitory, ducking into an empty room after his talk with McGonagall. He found a secluded windowsill on the third floor, half hidden behind a tapestry, where he leafed through his transfiguration textbook, curled into a cosy ball. The window overlooked a busy courtyard. A willow directly underneath swayed in the breeze, casting dancing shadows across the grey stone.
On Friday morning, the Gryffindors hurried to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology with the dumpy little Professor Sprout. She gave an introduction to taking care of the strange plants and fungi and their uses.
The light filtered through the leaves of hundreds of plants and bathed the greenhouse in a sea of green air. Water droplets mixed with the beads of sweat on Remus’s skin. He was one of the few who kept their cloaks fastened around their necks. Remus doubted he would like this subject very much. He tried to take notes of what Sprout was explaining, but the ink didn’t dry properly, and by the time they were released for lunch, his hands were stained black.
The first-years had Friday afternoon off, and the remaining boys from Remus’s dormitory joined their housemates down at the lake. Remus used the excuse that he wasn’t feeling well and stayed behind.
Remus wandered the castle, sketching the corridors and rooms he came across on a spare roll of parchment. He spent two hours watching the moving staircases and tried to come up with a list of symbols to code their movements.
Much like the stairs, the many portraits, hung in various corridors, moved. After overhearing the low murmurs from the frames as he strolled along the deserted halls, Remus had attempted to talk to a few portraits, but many were rather dim-witted. Some had their names etched into a plaque on their frame. Those, Remus labelled on his make-shift map.
Then there were doors that wouldn’t open unless asked politely, or tickled in the right spot, and doors that weren’t really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. Remus also found a rather interesting stretch of wall that led to a secret passageway in which he was accosted by a particularly irritating ghost who squirted him with soap and screamed at him the entire way until he emerged in the first-floor girl’s loo.
Even worse than the ghost was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Remus got on the wrong side of him, wandering the halls, whilst his classmates enjoyed the summer sun. He wouldn’t believe that Remus disliked the heat and threatened to hang him by his wrists.
Remus dodged the other boys during the weekend, being the first to leave and the last to enter their dormitory. As Sunday evening approached, Remus grew restless. He was famished at lunch, but dinner—which he spent alone—he simply poked at his steak, too distracted by the coming night.
The head boy, a tall boy with a round face and too-big ears called Frank, showed him to McGonagall’s office after the meal.
She was waiting for him, along with the school nurse, Madam Pomfrey.
“Good evening, Mr Lupin, Mr Longbottom.” McGonagall smiled, and waited until the head boy had rounded the corner before saying, “Shall we leave?”
The two women led him out of the castle into the grounds. Remus was pleasantly surprised, if not a bit weary. He’d expected to be locked up in the extensive dungeons under the castle.
They stopped at a safe distance from a colossal, gnarled tree, its branches thrashing as though in a high wind, except that the air was quiet and warm, and the first line of red stained the sky over the forest.
“This is the Whomping Willow,” McGonagall said, and Remus understood the warning Dumbledore had given them at the start of term. “It will prevent anyone from following you,” McGonagall continued.
As they approached, Professor McGonagall pointed her wand at the tree, and, with a swift flick, the branches froze mid-movement. Madam Pomfrey led Remus into a hollow in the roots. McGonagall followed them, lighting her wand as she descended into the tunnel.
Remus didn’t need the light. He could see the tunnel just fine. Their walk through the silent, passage seemed endless, and Remus only hoped no ghost was waiting there. The tunnel smelled musky and damp—roots hung from the walls, and protruded from the dirt underfoot, ready to trip any unwelcome visitor. Remus wondered how long they were going to walk for, when Madam Pomfrey stopped.
She opened a heavy wood door into a run-down cottage. A few glimpses of the fading daylight fell through boarded-up windows and cracks in the wall. In one corner, a damaged wooden stair led to an upper level. Beneath stood a made-up cot with fresh linen. Remus supposed it couldn’t be worse than the cell at home, although a cage was still a cage, and this one didn’t look secure at all.
“Alright, this is it,” McGonagall said. “Once the door is closed, you won’t be able to get out. I’ll make sure your books are here in the morning. Is there anything we can provide you with?”
Remus shrugged. “How do I get back after?”
“I’ll come down right after sunrise,” Madam Pomfrey assured him. “Have you back in the castle before anyone notices you’ve gone.”
Remus nodded. “You’d better leave.”
The women smiled at him before stepping out. Remus stood by a crack, spying outside. Thorny shrubs stretched over what once had been a front lawn, taking over a low fence. Dusk was settling, and Remus thought he could see houses in the distance. The door creaked and locked with a heavy thud.
Remus shrugged out of his cloak and placed it on an armchair by the door. He pulled at his tie, and his jumper itched—finally, he undressed, except for the thin shirt he wore under his uniform. Remus paced. His skin felt too tight, and his temperature, which had been rising for the past couple of hours, reached a peak.
His senses were sharper now, as if the wolf was already in his mind. Remus removed the wand from his pocket and tightened his fist around it. He buried it in his clothes, hoping the wolf wouldn’t destroy it.
As the light from outside waned, Remus was overcome by hunger. He heard his heart beat against his ribs, his stomach gurgling. His joints ached, and Remus’s breathing quickened.
Remus undressed completely, not wanting to rip his clothes. He scratched his arms, his entire body throbbing and itching. When the first bones broke and the tendons stretched, Remus doubled over. He bit his cheeks, panting only occasionally. Remus tasted blood, and finally, when he couldn’t take it anymore, he screamed.
Fur sprouted from his skin, and Remus felt the wetness of blood on his hands as his fingernails grew into claws. Eventually, his screams turned into howls, and his mind calmed.
The next thing Remus remembered was the bone-crushing agony of returning to human form. Still, he woke with only minor injuries. The scratches were all superficial, and already healing. Apart from the bruises across the left half of his body and a few splinters, he was uninjured.
He wiped the tears from his eyes, pulled the blanket from the cot, wrapped himself up, and fell asleep on the floor. Madam Pomfrey woke him, wiping her hand across his forehead.
“The fever? Is it normal?” she asked in a hushed voice.
Remus nodded, his throat raw. He blinked twice before stretching carefully.
“I don’t like the look of you,” she said.
“I’m fine. Usually, it’s worse,” Remus said, trying to comfort her.
Unsteadily, he got to his feet and staggered to his clothes. Remus tried very hard not to limp and give Madam Pomfrey more reasons to worry. His joints felt stiff, as if they were locking themselves in place as a protest over how much they’d been stretched the previous night.
“I want to go,” he said, smiling and pulling on his jumper.
Madam Pomfrey opened a bag she’d dropped in the corner and pulled out a plate, which filled itself with sandwiches once she set it on the dusty steps. Remus devoured the first five and was surprised to find the plate as full as ever.
She made him drink two vile potions and demonstrate that all his limbs were fully functional before she was satisfied and allowed him to go to class. His rucksack was stuffed with books, and sat waiting in the passage.
Remus had the impression that the walk back took considerably longer, and he was glad to have Madam Pomfrey’s wand light this time. By the time they reached the castle’s front doors, Remus was panting and very late for class. He hurried along the halls and up the stairs onto the third floor, glad to have explored the castle the day before and, therefore, fairly confident he was going in the right direction.
Remus wiped the sweat from his brow. Now that Madam Pomfrey wasn’t watching anymore, he allowed himself to limp. He shoved a tapestry aside and hurried down the corridor when he heard quick footsteps and loud shouting.
“Jaaames—” Remus heard from behind—“Why didn’t you wake me up? I—”
Sirius crashed into Remus from behind. Remus inhaled sharply, holding on to the wall for support.
Sirius turned, studying him. “You—Lupin, right? You weren’t in the dormitory last night.”
“I—uh, I was kinda, I mean my—”
“Mr Black.” Remus felt his heart stop. The boys turned around; Professor McGonagall stared at them, her arms crossed. “Mr Lupin. What are you two doing in the hallway?”
Sirius swung an arm over Remus’s shoulder, and the words gushed out of his mouth. “Well, we were just on our way to class. You see, Professor, Lupin wasn’t here this morning when Longbottom explained the way to Defence Against the Dark Arts during breakfast, Lupin couldn’t have known where to go. I found him here, and we were just on our way, right, Lupin?”
Remus blushed. “Y—Yes, I’m lost. Very, super lost.”
“I see,” McGonagall said, arching her eyebrow. “Off you go then. And don’t stray if you wish to avoid detention.” Her eyes twinkled. “Especially you, Mr Black, since I’ll be seeing you tonight already.”
The classroom wasn’t far now. Remus pulled on Sirius’s cloak, dragging him off. Once McGonagall was out of earshot, Sirius clapped him on the back, and Remus drew in a sharp breath.
“Thanks for not busting me,” Sirius said, grinning. “I really couldn’t handle another punishment with McGonagall right now.”
“You’re welcome,” Remus said, making sure he didn’t trip over the cobbled stone, trying to keep up. “We were both late, after all.”
“Yeah, you’ve got a point. You seem like a cool guy, Lupin.”
“Remus,” he said, his mouth tugging into a shy smile.
“Right, I’m Sirius.”
They ducked into the classroom, and about twenty heads turned to stare at them. The only bench left was in the very front, and the professor, a stern old witch with a scar running down her cheek, stopped the roll call.
She stared at the two boys. “You are?”
“Remus Lupin,” he mumbled.
Sirius straightened. “Sirius Black.”
“Ah,” the professor said. “Class started eight minutes ago; therefore, eight points from Gryffindor each.” She raised her parchment and continued to call out names.
The two shuffled to their seats, and Sirius leaned back in his chair, trying to catch James’s attention. He was seated a few rows behind them.
Much like the other classrooms, this one had a high ceiling. To the right, a round stair led to a door connected to one of the many towers. Remus wondered what was up there. Above their heads, a massive skeleton was suspended in the air, hovering between two round metal candle holders.
The professor tutted, walking over to the blackboard with a limp. Her pointed hat sat lopsided on her head, revealing wisps of long silver hair that clung to the deep navy of her robes. She tapped her wand on the board, and the word ‘Bracegirdle’ appeared in flourish writing.
“I am Professor Bracegirdle,” she said, letting her eyes wander the classroom. Her scar distorted her mouth with every word she spoke. “Retired Auror. Dumbledore invited me to prepare you for what is waiting out there.”
Remus had the distinct impression that her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than they did on anyone else.
“What is out there?” a Hufflepuff girl whispered.
“Dangerous wizards and creatures of the night lurk everywhere.” She paused, tapping the board again, and her name vanished. “You, however, are far from ready for a fight. First, you will learn to signal for assistance.” She pointed her wand toward the ceiling and said, “Vermillious.”
Red sparks shot from her wand, leaving puffs of smoke and a dark mark where they’d met the stone.
“This spell is not difficult—or useful. Still, it is a valid option, widely recognised in the wizarding world as a distress signal.”
“It is also used in Quidditch,” James said.
The professor’s mouth twitched. “If you want to compare a duel for your life to a silly pastime.” A few students giggled. “It has many applications. Although it won’t injure or incapacitate, the sparks may startle your opponent long enough, especially since the spell can imitate far more dangerous jinxes. Now, I want you to spread out and try your hand at the spell, wands toward the ceiling only.”
This classroom was far larger than the others, leaving enough room for them to spread out next to their desks and practise the spell. Remus worried about the books and artefacts on the shelves between the windows.
The old witch walked between the groups, her hands crossed behind her back. The classroom was filled with incantations of various volumes and smoke quelling from the tips of their wands. Some students even produced small sparks.
“There is no specific wand movement,” the professor said. Her voice carried over the smoke. “Your incantation does the work for you. Experienced witches and wizards cast this spell non-verbally and could do this in their sleep. Determination is key.”
Remus held his wand high, repeating the incantation over and over with varying success. His arm felt as though it might fall off at any moment, but he still seemed better off than the short Hufflepuff girl in the corner, constantly enveloped by a cloud of smoke from the tip of her wand.
When most of the class finally managed to shoot sparks up over their heads, Professor Bracegirdle ordered the students to retake their seats. Remus’s eyes burned. He couldn’t tell if it was the smoke or the fact that he’d been awake for more than a day. Professor Bracegirdle spent the last half hour lecturing the class about the first beast they were studying. Apparently, the lake was home to merpeople, and they had tamed a horde of grindylows, who, despite all efforts, attacked students swimming in the lake. One more reason not to undress.
The bell rang. Remus craned his neck—he still hadn’t figured out where the sound came from.
Remus slid out of his seat, sucking in a deep breath. His muscles were stiff, and he was surprised his joints didn’t creek audibly. He swayed, the room turning slightly, and Remus wished for his comfortable four-poster in Gryffindor Tower. They still had two more classes before he could finally fall into bed.
“Mr Lupin,” Professor Bracegirdle said. She towered over him. “Go on,” she ushered Sirius ahead, who’d stopped in the middle of the classroom.
“But I was late too, Professor,” he said. “If you’re going to punish him, you should punish me, too.”
Remus raised his eyebrows. Who’d want to be punished if they could avoid it?
“Move along, Mr Black.” Sirius stood still, his hand clenched around his book. “I have put away my fair share of Blacks throughout my career. I am not above continuing my streak. Leave my classroom.”
Remus nodded to Sirius, who reluctantly let James drag him out of the room. The professor’s piercing blue eyes returned to Remus. She tutted, limping over to her desk and crossing her arms.
“So, you’re our new whelp,” she said after the door had fallen shut. “The first dark creature in Hogwarts’ history.”
Remus swallowed, looking at his shoes. His father warned him repeatedly—it didn’t help with how his stomach twisted.
“I thought Dumbledore had lost his marbles when he announced his ideas before the term started. But then again, Albus has always lived in his very own world.” Her thin eyebrows knitted together. “I had not expected to see you in class today.”
“Why not?” Remus asked. He could feign innocence for as long as she let him.
“Given that it was a full moon last night. I have heard that the morning after can be intense—” Remus tried his best not to react—“But then again...” She stepped toward him, awkwardly dragging her left leg behind her. “Nothing unexpected if one’s turned into a feral beast the night before.”
Remus bit his tongue until he tasted blood. No amount of arguing would help. She saw him for the monster that he was. In a way, he was grateful—she was the first professor not to tip-toe around his problem. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he whispered.
“That is the human side of you talking. The beast within you is licking his lips, waiting for an opportunity. I haven’t met a single werewolf who hasn’t hurt others—no matter how well prepared. Dumbledore is putting a great deal of faith in you. No other person would have allowed you to attend school and gone to these lengths to protect you.”
A shiver ran down Remus’s spine. He tapped his foot, focusing on the tingling in his scrapes as they healed. It was all he could do not to break into tears—or yell—he couldn’t tell what he wanted to do.
“I will keep an eye on you, Mr Lupin.”