Spelled

He winced and fell back gently against the sweat-soaked sheets feeling the blistering heat of his wounds tearing open. He’d already learned not to get up so quickly, and under usual circumstances opted to simply stare up at the ceiling, barely 2 feet above his face, and imagine he was somewhere better. In his dorms or the library, hell even back in potions with Severus sat beside him was better than this. 

But the august fever was unbearable, especially in the little Andy shelter they had him in, being half underground in this sweltering heat made his chest feel too heavy and his breaths too short. The muzzle strapped to his head was not a new addition but on this day had been a special sort of torment, limiting his breaths and on a more psychological level made him feel even less human than usual. The panic that left him in was erratic and he couldn’t use his head and did dumb stuff like move, leaving himself to ponder the fire in his chest on top of the summer sun. 

He hated summers away, the long-drawn-out day forcing him to search for ways to fill the time without James’ erratic self to drag him to the quidditch stands or his study group and prefect duties packing his schedule. The other boys adored running around in the heat kicking a barely inflated ball around or just roughhousing when Ms Miriam wasn’t looking, Remus thought choosing to burn under the august sun was idiotic. Then again, he was the one lying in a pool of sweat covered in a sticky layer of blood and half scabbed over wounds itching against his chest, so maybe he was the fool. 

The Matron let him out at 6:00am every full moon on the dot so when he noticed the little clock hit 6:15 his heart began to race terribly again. The same kind of awful beating it did just before he transformed, his mind raced with all the horrible possibilities. The Matron was the only one who knew about his sickne- affliction, if something were to happen, the other faculty wouldn’t know to let him out. His screams muffled in that godforsaken WW2 shelter as he roasted alive. The thought of dying any heat related death sent him deeper into panic which definitely didn’t help his heart rate. Soon Remus was crying again and though some distant part of himself was incredibly embarrassed, the fear was too strong to let the awareness get close enough to stop him. Now manic from heat he began trying to paw of the muzzle, the straps dug into his face as a wolf and even now was tightly strapped around his hollow human jaw, indenting his skin. 

He didn’t know how long he was sat their crying before the exhaustion wore him out but he awoke eyes still aching but chest calmer in the home's infirmary, for a moment he thought the hand patting an ice cold cloth against his head was Madame Pompfrey and he was suddenly in danger of bursting into tears again, but of course it wasn’t. He was still at Mormont Hall and it was just the Matron, she noticed him wake immediately and dutifully brought a glass to his chapped lips. 

“Now Mr Lupin, you must not scare us again like that,” her tone was scolding but Remus didn’t have the strength to fight, and the water was so cold and refreshing he could barely form words, 

“Yes Ms Miriam,” his voice was weak even to his own ears and the sound of beaten fatigue was so pitiful it had earned a look of sympathy from even the frigid Matron, 

She stroked his head again dipping the rag in the freezing wet and he let out a grateful sigh, 

“You’ll be thankful to hear that the reason I was gone those few extra minutes, was because you had a visitor” the claim of someone coming to see him was more than enough distraction from her minimising. Who could it be, McGonagall shouldn’t be fetching him for at least 3 weeks and Dumbledore had sent over all his summer reading materials a while ago, he remembered he’d tucked them under his bed in the Anderson shelter to stop the boys from getting their grubby hands on it. The reminder of that fiery pit sent a shiver down his spine prompting Ms Miriam to begin dabbing again. Remus closed his eyes, if he thought hard enough, he could pretend it was Pomfrey. 

“A Mrs and Mr Potter are waiting in the reception right now-”  

It took a moment for this information to set in and for what felt like the millionth time his eyes pricked up with tears, sending a jolt of pain through his already achy head. Despite that however his spirits had lifted greatly, Effy had come to save him! He thought ecstatically, he must finally be allowed to spend holidays with James. Euphemia and Fleamont had been fighting to allow Remus to spend Summer with them since first year. With all the chaos in the wizarding world right now they must have cracked Dumbledore and found a way to bend the rules and let him leave before 17. The image of Effy tearing Dumbledore a new one was bright in his mind and for the first time in weeks Remus felt a good sorta warmth settle in his chest.  

The warmth he felt every time he arrived in Diagon alley and caught Mrs Potters eyes watching fondly over James, and when she caught sight of Remus that same maternal adoration turning to him. Her warm hugs that brought him to tears year after year and that bloody empathy, the way she turned away from the boys and waited for his gentle weeping to halt, already prepared with a tissue to wipe his eyes. It's been 4 years and James and Sirius still think he has hay fever, a clever lie she’d thought up when the other marauders were met with weepy 12 year-old Remus clutching onto Mrs Potter’s skirts. 

“Is that not good news!” She patted, “Being fostered at 15, you are quite lucky,” 

Ms Miriam hadn’t stopped speaking but Remus had stopped listening and the word fostered jolted him. 

  Fostered.   

It couldn’t be, he couldn’t believe it, refused to. Because if he believed that Effy had gone this far, that Effy the mother he had always wanted, wanted him back. He might actually fall apart. His heart could not hold that much, he just knew it, he wasn’t strong and enduring like Sirius nor bright and easy going like James and he couldn't ever be careless as Peter. No Remus was a bit of beating scar tissue and brittle bone and that sort of love would splinter him entirely. 

“Sorry did you say f-fostered ,” His voice was a mere whisper like if he spoke to loudly the dream would dissipate and his hopes would fly away with the breeze. 

Ms Miriams’ voice was impatient as she replied  

“Maybe we should speak later, when your more-coherent.” Her eyes gave him a once over and her voice was dismissive. A wild, manic frenzy grasped him, he had to know now.  

“I’m fine Ms Miriam, could you just- please repeat what you said about Mrs and Mr Potter” He worked hard to hold onto politeness but it didn’t seem that would budge her, 

“Remus,” Her voice stern “You clearly are not well enough to hear this, the Potters hoped to see you this evening, but we can reschedule for tomorrow,” All softness had left. 

“NO, MI- Matron I promise I’m fine,” He grasped desperately for way to prove this, “It’s m-my-my condition, I heal quickly and-” At the mention of his affliction she bristled, spine straightening as she lifted her hand to stop him. Even all this excitement couldn’t stop him from wincing at her disgust. 

“You don’t need to go on about it, if you really think you're alright you can see them in an hour,” his eyes brightened “but for right now sleep, I’ll go inform the Potters that they’ll have to wait a little longer. 

Ms Miriam rose with ease; she began to walk out of the room but paused in the door way to turn and lift her brow expectantly at him. It took him a moment, but he soon realised what she was getting at and with a flamboyancy rivalling Sirius, he tucked himself dramatically back into bed and began snoring loudly. She rolled her eyes and left, the sound of her flats pattering down the hall way. Remus's blood was buzzing in his veins and he didn’t think he could go to sleep, but a few short minutes went by as he watched the ticking clock against the far wall intently but despite his best effort, the aching exhaustion coaxed him into a deep slumber. 

… 

The sound of clicking heels halls away woke him up, and the first thing he noticed was the lack of pain in his head, next he saw the clock and realised he’d slept in, the Matron hadn’t woken him and it was now well past midnight. The anxiety hadn’t had time to fully grasp him when he noticed the furious clicking getting closer. At once he realised the sound wasn’t the Matron, heels weren’t a practical shoe choice at an all-boys home populated by future runners and felons. No, the clicking steps that were coming from the north-east near the front of Mormont was getting closer, and fainter steps, the sound of ballet flats were padding behind trying to keep up. He slowly rose up again, weary of the almost healed wound across his chest and sat on the edge of the bed waiting. One positive that came with his illn-affliction was the heightened senses, it was Fleamont who had once caught him having a break down in a dark corner of Diagon Alley over the roaring of noise, who’d taught him to focus on the individual sounds. Instead of rejecting the noise to let it in, to decipher the different footsteps and smells one by one. The trick had helped soothe his nerves and with the Potters so close he for once had remembered to use it. 

He let his senses reach out around the entire building, the snores of hundreds of boys in the east and west sides of the Mormont were rhythmic and soothing, he let his breaths slow like theirs before moving on, Next was the louder, more distinct noises of boys who had chosen to stay awake. In the north east (close to the front office) he could hear an exasperated Mr Peterson speaking to Tommy Fletton, a well-known misfit who'd snuck into the kitchens to stuff his pockets with chocolates. Remus almost groaned at the smell, his mouth watering. He let go of the scent begrudgingly and refocused entirely to the snoring of one boy in the south west dorms, the very last room. The only room with a singular occupant, a room he usually would be sleeping in. Grants room. He could recognise that boy's breathing from miles if he had to, the slow beating of his sleeping heart, he could remember the feel of it. Just the night before his chest had been tucked warmly against his back, he felt guilty for a moment, guilty for all the lamenting as if he didn’t have an angel in this hell. The warmth Effy brought was magnified every time with his return to Hogwarts, he couldn’t compare that to Grant with his gorgeous hair and full lips, a lonely wonder in a desolate home.  

This exercise meant to relax him had ironically just led him to a fear he hadn’t even been aware of. What about Grant. He couldn’t very well leave him to rot with the rest of the cunts there. When Grant had showed up last summer, he might have just saved Remus’s life. His last roommate, Alfie, who had been his only real mate even if just out of convenience, had been kicked out of Mormont Hall and nobody else liked him all that much. He didn’t play sports or joke (at least not in a way they appreciated) he looked beastly with all his scars so all the littler kids were afraid of him and his boarding school status meant rougher kids thought he was a pompous bastard (though their wording was less verbose). The first week alone, especially after the way he’d left his friendship with the boys at the end of third year, had been dark, the sort of midnight that wrapped its cold embrace around his frail body and squeezed every last ounce of hope up and out of his bloody and torn throat.  

Then Grant appeared, missing one of his front teeth but smiling like he had pearly whites, he was the sun, bright and beautiful and in one fell swoop pushed the midnight away. No one at Mormont Hall much liked Remus but Grant was at once sold, Grant looked at him like he was precious. He liked rock music too and though his taste was a bit more folky they’d both agreed that Bowie was untouchable. Grant liked sports, ran around with the more tolerable boys shirtless and sweaty playing rugby, and for some reason (that Remus only came to understood after the snogging) Remus didn’t mind just watching Grant play. Not to mention Grant was tall, out of all of Mormont boys, Remus easily the towered over them and it had been a good enough deterrent to keep bullies away, along with scars. Grant’s height wasn’t intimidating per se, but only because he never tried to be. He was lean but stocky with what Mr Peterson called farming strength and a work ethic to match, even the faculty who’d all lost their soft spots for young boys after working so long with the terrors, liked him. Remus liked him. Loved him, even. 

Remus wished so deeply that Grant wasn’t a muggle, that one day his letter would arrive in a flurry of feathers and he could finally tell him everything. Grant had assumed early on that Remus was sick. That he had some sort of chronic illness and he didn’t bother correcting him, he made a lot of assumptions instead of pushing Remus. Once Grant had pulled him into a stall during an assembly, Remus was prepared for a snog but instead Grant lifted his shorts from the cuffs to show cuts on his thigh. Thin white lines ordered in a not at all Grant-like way, it clicked quickly in Remus head what Grant had assumed this time and the guilt had sown his mouth shut so instead he wrapped his arms around him, Grants eyes had pricked with tears but still he looked at Remus with a grin and explained they were same with pride rather than disgust. It was that moment he decided he loved Grant and because he loved him, he couldn’t be selfish with him. With a slowness that for once lacked the awkward manoeuvring his inexperienced self usually retained, he kissed every scar before his lips and the tears had fallen down Grants cheeks by now but Remus's had fallen too. They stayed there hidden away quietly kissing each other pains away for a millennia and when night finally came, they melted into each other, the flesh morphing into to two. 

Knock, knock, knock  

The sudden wraps against the infirmary door jolted Remus out of his reminiscing and he rose to open it, taking a step ignoring the painful creak of his hip. Fortunately, he didn’t have to brave the rest of the way because the door swung open of its own accord revealing a Mrs Potter with a sheen of sweat on her forehead and her chest rising and falling rapidly. Their eyes locked and Effy bounded forward with a swiftness that was so impressive that he wondered whether she was using the feather foot charm. She grasped him in a hug and the smell of freshly baked tarts and home invaded his senses, it took him a second to sink fully into the embrace but just as quickly as he relaxed, he tensed again. His hip had begun bothering him increasingly, so much so he had begun using a cane to his dismay. The fear of bullying was much larger and to Remus more threatening at Mormont, at least at Hogwarts he had his wand and a fair shot at defending himself. Hear he was weak after transformations that took weeks instead of days to recover from and he didn’t have a gaggle of wildly popular mates to fight for him when he was tired, not to mention the punishment for fighting here was caning, a beating that despite his illness he was never exempt from. 

Mrs Potter noticed the wince immediately and stepped back to look at him gravely though the hint of motherly love couldn’t be smothered entirely by her worry, she leant in and kissed him gently on the forehead before starting. 

“Remus my love, are you alright! Look at the state of you, have they been feeding you at all goodness! We must get you home at once.” As she shot question after question to quickly for him to understand, let alone answer, her flurry of activities sent a shot of contentment and peace into the cavern in his chest Grant couldn’t fill and he relaxed again, the hip pain subsiding. 

Ms Miriam arrived a minute after her face indignant over Mrs Potter’s shoulder, she looked as if she had been chasing Effy and ready unload the lecture of the century. 

“MRS POTTER. How dare you push past-” Her face was flushed red and then suddenly lost all colour as Mrs Potter turned. 

“How dare I, how dare I .” Remus couldn’t see Mrs Potters face but her tone was deceptively calm and he imagined her expression must be truly terrifying to prompt that sort of reaction from the Matron. Luckily before the battle could commence and Remus would have to duck for cover,  Fleamont, the level headed adult arrived. 

He diffused the situation gently without wounding either parties egos to badly, ushering us all to the front office so we could speak without waking any of the sleeping boys, Ms Miriam at least had the decency to look ashamed by her impassioned display and she would not make eye contact with him whist Mrs Potter was comically unembarrassed continuing to send menacing glares toward the Matron ignoring Mr Potters pleading looks. Mr and Mrs Potter were walking either side of him matching Remus's pace as he limped, walking stick in hand, he was tucked gently into Effy’s side. He felt like for the first time in forever he could relax completely and that security (despite just napping for 4 hours) made him very sleepy. He couldn’t remember much of the walk back except for when Fleamont looked down at him and his stick before sharing a worried look with his wife.  

He doesn’t remember getting into a car, just the cold nights air sweeping over his piping skin, invigorating him after the day's different heats. He distinctly remembered pressing his face against glass of a taxi’s window, as they stopped arriving not at Potter Manor, but instead at the front of Gladstone’s library. He remembers walking into the empty building, or rather limping, and he remembered that the night guard hadn't seen them somehow. Lastly, he remembered a flash of light and landing on a fluffy cloud. 

A silky voice soaked in worry howling, 

“Moony!”