- It was because of Fenrir Greyback that Remus had the life he had. -
September slowly faded into October and soon the students found themselves obsessing over one thing and one thing only “ Quidditch. Quidditch was like a sickness amongst the student body, particularly the older boys. When the season rolled around they all began talking about it constantly, especially James Potter. James Potter had been on the Gryffindor team since his second year and was said to be one of the best Chasers Hogwarts had ever seen, and they were right on many counts. James was small and light, making him ideal to weave in and out of the larger players on the opposing teams. Also, despite the fact that he wore glasses, he had excellent aim and scored practically every time he tried. However, he tended to brag an awful lot about how wonderful he was at the sport, and when that started Remus made it a point to leave the room.
Remus had tried out for Quidditch when he was a second year, trying out for the position of Beater. He had no luck. He was a good flier but he wasn’t strong enough to hit the Bludgers at other players. James usually loved to mention this whenever they were talking about the sport, which was exactly the reason Remus liked to become invisible when the topic came up. He did like talking about Quidditch, but mainly to his brother, who was also bad at it. But he was good at memorising the stats and the rules.
But this one time Remus wasn’t able to escape from James talking about it. It was during Potions class on the Friday before the first match and, as usual, Remus was going to pieces as he made his Shrinking Solution.
“Mr. Lupin, you didn’t add enough rat spleens,” Professor Slughorn reprimanded as he watched the potion turn orange.
Remus nodded fervently, red in the face from both exhaustion and embarrassment. Professor Slughorn clicked his tongue impatiently and moved to the row ahead of Remus to check on the other students. Remus couldn’t think of a way to correct his mistake. The only way was for him to start over and there wasn’t enough time left in the period. So, sitting back in defeat, he waited for the bell to ring.
“Jeez, Lupin, you make potions just about as bad as you play Quidditch,” said James from the row behind him.
Remus looked over his shoulder and saw James smirking at him while Sirius stared at his cauldron, eyes squinted in concentration. Remus didn’t say anything; he just stared at the boy in disgust. Was he really so pathetic that he had to make mention of it? He bit back a retort and continued to wait for the class to end. But clearly James wasn’t going to stop just because Remus had turned his back on him.
“How hard is it to add three rat spleens into a potion?” he asked loudly.
Remus felt his face growing warm as several eyes turned on him, even Professor Slughorn had frozen over the cauldron he was inspecting. Remus knew that he was having a battle between right and wrong as he stood there.
“James, leave it,” he could hear Peter say quietly from the left side of James.
“What?” James snapped as if he had not heard Peter correctly.
Peter nodded towards Remus and glared at his friend. James grudgingly obeyed Peter’s order and sat down, stirring the contents in his cauldron slightly faster. Remus turned to smile appreciatively at Peter, but found that the boy had already refocused his attention back on his work.
Remus didn’t understand it. James usually paid no attention to him and he was okay with that. He would rather be invisible than be tormented. But now James was telling him off and insulting him every chance he got and it was getting to be too much. He would rather James act the way he used to, completely indifferent to him and only acknowledged him as the strange bookworm everyone thought him to be. Life was slightly better that way.
The bell rang and Remus quickly packed up his books and tried to run out of the room before any more jeers could come his way. And, much to his luck, none did as James had remained behind to help clean up the ink bottle that Sirius had accidentally knocked over. He looked to the opposite side of the classroom and saw Larry waiting intolerantly for Snape to collect his belongings, muttering that they would be late for Charms if he didn’t hurry up. Remus checked his watch and saw that he had only two minutes to get to Care of Magical Creatures. So, he high-tailed it through the thinning crowd of students and sprinted down the lawn once he made it outside.
He arrived just as Professor Kettleburn was coming out of the Gamekeeper “ Hagrid’s “ hut and he was carrying what appeared to be a box full of overgrown worms. Remus frowned in disgust and disappointment. He had been hoping that they were done with Flobberworms after working with them since the beginning of the year. How many magical properties could they have? Kettleburn smiled at the glum looks on his students’ faces and set the crate down. Clapping his hands together he looked over his students and gestured to the box.
“Yes, I know what you’re thinking,” he said in his booming voice. The students nodded. Each of them “ Gryffindor and Ravenclaw “ was not eager on spending another lesson with these creatures. But, much to their surprise, Professor Kettleburn kicked the crate over and all of the Flobberworms began inching their way across the lawn and towards the Forbidden Forest. “We’re setting them free!”
Predictably, the class roared with cheers, some of them even stamping their feet on the ground. That was the entire lesson. They didn’t even have to learn about a new creature, although Professor Kettleburn promised them they would be learning about Hedgehogs next time. All they had to do that day was help the Flobberworms get along so Hagrid’s boarhound, Fang, wouldn’t eat them as he walked about the grounds. Remus looked about the little worms squirming around on the ground and picked the slowest one and kept prodding it with his wand in an attempt to make it move. In the end he resorted to using the Levitation Charm and lifted the Flobberworm into the Forbidden Forest.
“Professor, why are we making them go in there?” Sirius asked, as he narrowly avoided stepping on one. Professor Kettleburn scratched his chin and sidestepped out of the way of a Flobberworm. “Wouldn’t they get eaten by a werewolf or something?”
Remus restrained himself from looking too interested in this conversation, so he forced his concentration on the herd of worms scrambling to the forest. He knew very well what would happen if a Flobberworm strayed across a werewolf’s path and it wasn’t what Sirius was expecting.
“Well, if they ran across a werewolf they would be most safe,” Kettleburn said calmly, picking up the empty crate and cradling it under his left arm. Sirius raised an eyebrow, clearly he had not expected that answer, just as Remus had thought. “Werewolves despise the taste of Flobberworms. They’re far too slimy for them to stomach.” He chuckled lightly, and Remus could have sworn Kettleburn had glanced at him. But at the next moment, he figured he had only imagined it. “It would be like a human eating a worm,” Kettleburn went on, turning his back on Sirius so he could put the crate away.
“Class dismissed,” he called from over his shoulder. Chatter broke out as the students collected their bags and trudged up the grassy slope for lunch.
“Hey, Lupin!” a voice called out as Remus stooped down to tie his shoe. He looked up and saw that Sirius was coming his way. Remus wondered why. He thought that Sirius would be hurrying to the Great Hall to catch up with James and Peter, who were leaving Muggle Studies at the moment.
“Sirius,” Remus acknowledged, straightening up and adjusting the strap on his bag.
“Look,” he said in a voice that suggested that he wanted to either get this over with or to just get his point across quickly. “Don’t listen to what James says to you.”
“Oh, you mean that I’m a bad Quidditch player and potion maker?” Remus said coldly. “I didn’t need him to tell me that.”
Sirius visibly flinched, but didn’t back away. “James is just like that with some people,” he continued, doing his best to defend his friend but not offend Remus. “It’s like him and Snape.”
“Please don’t compare me with Snape.” Remus could see the tiniest flicker of a smile on Sirius’s face, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t want to be funny.
“I wasn’t trying to. But that’s the way it is.”
“Well, I don’t give a hang about what James says. James saying all those things just proves that he’s so pathetic he needs to make fun of other people.”
Sirius looked Remus up and down, sizing him up, and let out a low whistle. Apparently he had expected Remus to act like the meek boy he appeared to be. He had suspected Remus to simply say that he knew that James was just being stupid, and that he didn’t mind, but Remus wasn’t going to play that game. He wasn’t going to lie down and let them all walk over him. He was sick and tired of it. He suddenly found himself not caring about the fact that Sirius had never really given him a problem.
“James should just watch what he’s saying!” Remus snarled.
Sirius nodded in spite of himself. Remus did have a point.
“Yeah, he should,” he mumbled, looking down at the ground. He had tried countless times to discuss the matter with James, but he hardly ever got any decent answers. James would simply say that there was something strange about Lupin, something that he wasn’t letting on. James thought that it meant Lupin didn’t like to trust people, and he wasn’t interested in being friends with someone unless he earned their trust. Sirius wondered if he should bring that notion up with Remus, but he decided it probably wasn’t the best of ideas. If there really was something strange about this kid, then he didn’t want to press the matter. It was either something too strange to handle or something really bad, and Sirius didn’t prefer to find out either one. He sighed and shoved his fists in his pockets.
“I think I’m going to go now,” he said, almost to himself.
Remus nodded without hesitation and Sirius set off to find his friends, leaving Remus alone on the grounds, contemplating whether he should go eat lunch or remain outside. He walked over to the lake and picked up a red stone. Observing it for a mere second, he skipped it across the water and watched as a large tentacle surfaced and brought the rock down into the murky depths of the water.
Sitting down against the beech tree, he gazed across the lake and found himself drifting slightly. The full moon had been two days before and yesterday he was definitely feeling the worst of it. He had been taken back to the castle in a bloody heap and his robes torn so much that they resembled discarded rags. He should still be in the Hospital Wing, according to Madam Pomfrey. But he felt perfectly fine, except for the fact that he had been constantly tired and was in danger of falling asleep everywhere. Even in his favourite classes, he was found dozing. Professor McGonagall, in particular, was not happy to find Remus with his face in his arms during her lesson. Though she was infuriated and took ten points from Gryffindor, she did not give him detention nor did she suspend him from the upcoming Hogsmeade trip, which was usually the punishment for a case like that.
Maybe that was one of the reasons why James was so bitter with him? It was very possible that James didn’t like the fact that Remus could fall asleep during class and escape practically unscathed. But it wasn’t always like that. It was purely because Remus was still worn out from the full moon. He couldn’t be punished for that. It wasn’t his fault he was a werewolf, although he liked to tell himself that it was in order to spare his father the grief. He remembered, sometimes as if it were from a dream, the night that he learnt that it was his father’s fault that Fenrir Greyback had went after him.
He was about eight at the time and for the four years since he had been bitten he had been blaming himself for what had happened. He used to think that it was something he had done that earned him his fate. Maybe he had done something awful to offend his parents, or his brother, or his sister? Maybe he was just one of those people who didn’t deserve a good life because they were destined to become the type who ruined lives for others. So, his life should have been ruined first. A lot of times, usually after a full moon, he would find himself feeling sorry for the werewolf who had done this time him. He was able to sympathize with the person because he could understand the hideous pain they both went through every month. He knew that nobody merited such a fate.
He soon learnt that there was someone who deserved this life. It was the werewolf who had done this to him.
One day, when he was recovering from a violent full moon, his bedroom door opened and his parents walked in, his father white and stony faced. His father looked imploringly at his mother. Remus couldn’t quite tell why, all he could think was that something bad had happened. But nothing bad had happened. In fact the day had been going quite well, with the exception of the effects of the night before. The problem was what was about to happen. Mr. Lupin sat down at the foot of his son’s bed and was silent for quite some time before he was able to tell Remus what he needed to tell him, with some encouragement from Mrs. Lupin.
He began talking about all of the horrible things he, Mr. Lupin, had done in his life and how he had thought that none could be as worse as any of them. And how he learnt four years previously, when Remus was four, that he was wrong. He discovered that things could be far worse than anything he had done when he was a child. Remus looked up at his father curiously. He didn’t understand what he was getting at. Why was his dad telling him this? What was so bad that it made all the other bad events in his life seem so miniscule?
And that was when he told him. Mr. Lupin confessed that it was his fault that Remus had been attacked by the werewolf. Remus’ eyes grew wide and he stared disbelievingly at his father. No, it was impossible. His father would never have any part in that twisted event. He would never help in any way, that wasn’t the kind of person he was. He didn’t have anything to do with it! His frantic thoughts were interrupted when his father continued, seeming to struggle with his words. Mr. Lupin had written a scathing article about the wrongdoings of the werewolf Fenrir Greyback and had it published in the Evening Prophet. Well, Mr. Greyback wasn’t pleased with that at all and one night, when Mr. Lupin was leaving work, he was confronted by the werewolf.
Greyback had threatened him with everything under the sun, ranging from Mr. Lupin dying a painful death to anything he could imagine that was worse than that. Mr. Lupin didn’t take the man seriously. He figured that he was just bitter about the article. But it didn’t make any difference what he thought about it. The article was published and that was that, it was in the past. But, he soon learnt that that article would never be in the past. It would haunt him for the rest of his life.
That same night Remus was with his mother near the outskirts of the village of Hogsmeade. While Mrs. Lupin was having a conversation with one of the residents, Remus wandered off. Mrs. Lupin only realised it when it was too late. Remus had been trailed by Greyback and caught off guard. The werewolf leapt on him and its jaws snapped hard on Remus’s forearm. The weight of the werewolf on a four year old was too much. Remus suffered from cracked ribs and his face might have been permanently scarred if it hadn’t been for Tom, the barman’s, quick thinking. He was able to perform the spell to prevent it. The barkeeper had scooped Remus up and went to the village, and found a frantic Mrs. Lupin right away. When she saw her son, she promptly fainted with shock.
Remus didn’t need to hear the details about his own encounter with the werewolf. That memory was as sharp as any in his mind. But he did need to hear about the reason he was a werewolf. It was his father’s fault. He wanted to yell at his father. He wanted to tell him in the worst way what the pain felt like. He wanted to just yell nonsense because he knew it was his father’s fault that he had to go through what he went through. But when he saw the look on his father’s face, the pained expression, the look of wanting to go back in time and change everything, he found he couldn’t yell. He couldn’t say anything.
And so, he learnt not to feel bad for the werewolf who had done this to him because that person wasn’t deserving of the sympathy of anyone, not even the lowest of creatures. Fenrir Greyback had done it on purpose. He purposely positioned himself close to where Remus would be. He did that to all of his victims “ bite them young, raise them away from their families. He felt no pity towards this creature. He would never mercy this man again. It was only for this man’s hardheadedness and cold heart that Remus was lying in his bed and racked with pain. It was because of Fenrir Greyback that Remus had the life he had.
The Quidditch pitch was packed with loud, cheering students as the first Quidditch match of the season “ Gryffindor against Slytherin “ drew nearer and nearer by the minute. All across the stadium, there were scarlet and green rosettes and banners bearing slogans (some of them being rather insulting and the Heads of Houses were having fits over them). Madam Hooch, the referee and the Flying Teacher for the first years, was standing at the centre of the pitch with a large crate next to her. The crate contained the four game balls “ the red Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and the most important object in the entire game, the Golden Snitch.
Remus leaned over the stands and looked down at the field below. The two teams were approaching Madam Hooch, the Gryffindors clad in scarlet robes and the Slytherins bearing green ones. The captains were glaring daggers at each other and, very reluctantly, shook hands when ordered. Hooch blew the whistle and the game was on.
“Welcome to the much anticipated first Quidditch match of the season,” announced the commentator Jerry Symes, a fifth year Hufflepuff. “Today’s competitors are Gryffindor and Slytherin. Now, we all know who the favourite house is so-”
“Symes, I think we would rather hear about the game, not your bias!” Professor McGonagall reprimanded.
“But it’s true, Professor!”
“Symes…”
“Fine. Well, Gryffindor is in possession of the Quaffle. Third year, James Potter, is making his way towards the Slytherin end. Ouch, that nearly hit him.”
And, indeed, a Bludger, hit by Slytherin Beater Jason Pucey, had gone whirling at James, who ducked his head just in time, therefore avoiding a very painful event. James scored, earning the first ten points for Gryffindor and for the game. He also earned himself a loud uproar from more than half of the stadium, the remainder booing and cursing loudly.
And, so, the match went on. The Slytherins clearly didn’t practise at all, seeing as how they had only scored two goals and both of them were the results of accidents. The first one was when a Slytherin Beater accidentally whacked the Quaffle out of James’s hand (breaking two of James’s fingers in the process, as everyone found out later) and sending it straight past the Gryffindor Keeper. The second accident was due to a Slytherin Chaser riding his broom too fast and he almost went spiraling into the Gryffindor Keeper, who dived out of the way to avoid being rammed into and the Quaffle miraculously went through the goal posts.
Gryffindor was now up one hundred points to twenty and it was obvious that the Slytherins were getting infuriated. They were now viciously swinging the Bludgers every which way they could. Some of the Bludgers went wayward and nearly hit the students in the stands. This game was getting dangerous, too dangerous in fact. The Slytherins had been known to play dirty, but this was bad, even for them. They normally would never hit a Bludger in such a way that it nearly took out fifteen students. Apparently the teachers were sensing something was out of the ordinary because they now set a limit to whatever team scored one hundred and twenty points first would win. They didn’t even need to catch the snitch.
Remus didn’t think that was possible. Quidditch was an addiction, even amongst the teachers. They would play in hurricanes and blizzards, in any kind of condition and never had the game been limited. Squinting at the players, Remus could see that James seemed to be glad about this, as his face was contorted in pain from his broken fingers. Another rebellious Bludger nearly took out a group of Ravenclaws as Slytherin scored another goal making the score 100-30. And, even if Remus thought it impossible, he didn’t mind an early calling of the game.
The cheering for Gryffindor grew louder as they would most likely be the ones to end them game and free them of this strange brutality. Remus always thought something like this would happen during a game and it frightened him beyond belief. He had seen what a Bludger to the head could do to you and it wasn’t a pretty sight. The previous year, a Hufflepuff Keeper had taken a Bludger to the face and was knocked out cold for two full days. Her whole face had to be mended and she had to take eleven potions nightly before she could be released from Madam Pomfrey’s care. Remus hoped he would never have to experience such an accident. Not only was it painful, but it was highly humiliating.
However, Remus’s wish for this was quickly diminished when a Slytherin hit the Bludger in the direction of Harold Geraldo of Gryffindor. Harold ducked quickly out of the way and the Bludger collided with the side of Remus’ head, sending him reeling backwards and unconscious.
When he finally came around, he saw that he was in the brightly lit Hospital Wing with an intense headache. He tried sitting up, but his head seared with pain and he dropped back down onto the pillow he was propped up on. He moaned lightly in pain and gazed up at the blurry ceiling. He heard a door open in the distance, but he was too tired to turn around and see who it was. However, he didn’t have to turn and see as he saw a pair of fingers stuck up in his face.
“Mr. Lupin, how many fingers am I holding up?” came the voice of Professor McGonagall.
Remus was silent for a moment before muttering the number two. He couldn’t see her reaction, as she hadn’t said anything. So, he assumed she was satisfied. He could hear her footsteps moving in the direction of Madam Pomfrey’s office. Honestly, he was surprised that she wasn’t in the Wing bustling around and ranting about how dangerous Quidditch is, even for the innocent bystanders in the stands. But she was nowhere to be seen, or heard in Remus’s case. He assumed McGonagall was going to retrieve her.
And, indeed, he was right, as the next moment he could hear the swift footsteps of the nurse as she made her way over to his bed. Remus could see worry etched in the witch’s face and he found himself wondering why she was so worried and why he was in the Hospital Wing in the first place. Then it came to him. The match had been getting violent. Bludgers were being knocked into the stands by Slytherins who were unintentionally hitting them hard. One had come towards him and it was blank after that. So that explains the headache, he thought irritably as his head took another painful twinge.
“Well, you’re awake at least,” she said with relief, as she walked out of her office with Professor McGonagall trailing behind her, following her to wherever she was going. Wanting to see what she was doing, Remus slowly raised himself up slightly and saw that she was looking in the cabinet to take out several potions. She clicked her tongue and brought the appropriate potions to Remus’s bedside table. He winced at the sight of the potions, as he had always had bad experiences with them, the horrible tastes and the burning sensations as they slid down his throat.
“No whining, Mr. Lupin,” she scolded when she saw his face.
“I will be speaking to Professor Slughorn about the match, Poppy,” Professor McGonagall said from behind Madam Pomfrey. Madam Pomfrey nodded, with a contented look on her face, and uncorked one of the bottles.
“This will sting,” she said warningly, though she hardly needed too.
Remus had taken that potion many times before to relieve the intense pains he received in his head after full moons. He was very well aware of how badly it would sting his throat. She poured the neon orange potion into a goblet and handed it silently to Remus, who downed it in one excruciating gulp. Cringing at the taste of it, Remus wiped the potion off his mouth with his sleeve and dropped back into his pillow.
He wasn’t surprised to find that the potion had only increased the throbbing pain in his head, this was what always happened. Madam Pomfrey would tell him that the potion took affect immediately and Remus would find that he’d still be in a considerable amount of soreness for a few mores hours before he was relieved of it. And having severe head pains at this time wasn’t fun for him, especially when the Hospital Wing door burst open and Blake came hurrying it, a deathly look on his face. Remus gave a pleading look at the nurse, who ignored him and went to rearrange the potions in their shelf.
“I swear when I get my hands on the kid who did this to you,” Blake raged, swearing very loudly and earning him a reprimand from Madam Pomfrey. But, Blake didn’t care he went on sounding, if anything, two times a deafening. “What the hell were they playing at anyway?” he raged, throwing himself into a chair beside Remus’s bed and nearly toppling over in the process. “Couldn’t they see it was going to get dangerous?”
“Blake!” Remus snapped wincing as his head throbbed painfully. “Not so loud.”
Blake smiled understandingly and ceased his tirade. Instead, he made himself comfortable and went on telling Remus that their parents were furious that he had gotten injured while in the stands. They knew Quidditch was dangerous, but they didn’t think it could harm the spectators. Shows how much they know, Remus thought indignantly. Blake soon got tired of talking about the match and, after checking his watch, saw that it was nearly dinner time and offered to bring Remus something up from the Great Hall. Remus declined, as he didn’t feel much like eating.
“Okay then,” Blake said, after insisting three more times. “Well feel better, kid.”
Remus watched lazily as his brother left the room and laid back in his bed, rubbing his head as it throbbed. He was right, the potion didn’t help much. But he imagined that if he went to sleep for an hour or so it would feel better when he woke up. And with that he fell into a peaceful lull.