He wasn’t even quite sure of why he was being pulled from class to meet with the Headmaster. All he knew was that Professor Dumbledore had sent an urgent message to his Transfiguration class, demanding his presence at once. His heart had sped up when he thought of the many horrible reasons he would be called to Dumbledore’s office. Had he woken one of the students with all his howls? Had Dumbledore discovered that his three best friends were Animagi?
The door pushed open abruptly, and Professor Dumbledore stood tall in robes of deep navy with silver lining. He gazed down his abnormally crooked nose and smiled grimly at Remus. He held the door back and allowed Remus to pass him, not saying a word. His usually sparkling blue eyes did not twinkle, but were clouded over and dull.
When Remus seated himself in one of the two chairs in front of the large oak desk, Dumbledore sat down in front of him, letting out a sigh of deep regret and laying his chin on his long fingers.
“Remus, I have very unpleasant news to place upon you,” he began, his bright blue eyes filled with sadness. Remus’s heart thudded painfully in his chest.
“Yes, Professor?” he questioned, fearing the answer and wishing it would never come, yet hoping to get it over with as quickly as possible. His fingers clenched tightly on the arms of the comfortable chair he was seated in.
Dumbledore gave him a look of deep sympathy before continuing. “Last night, there was a complication after your lycanthropy took charge.”
Remus’s breath stopped. He knew it must have been something along these lines, but he had dared to hope that it wasn’t. What had he done? He couldn’t remember much of the previous night, as his brain only registers flashes of when he transformed. His werewolf side has complete control, but every once in a while, his human mind would struggle against the monster and he will be able to see quick images of things that had taken place in the moonlight.
Dumbledore was watching him intently. “Can you remember anything from last night, Mr. Lupin, anything at all?”
Remus brought his hands to his eyes and blocked out the office, forcing his mind to remember things that probably weren’t even there. His head hurt dreadfully, and his entire body was aching all over. His very bones seemed to be screaming in protest as he strained himself to think clearly. All his mind could see, though, was a werewolf attacking a stag, or a black dog, maybe even ripping apart a small rat. He couldn’t concentrate! Slowly, he shook his head, and Dumbledore blew out a gust of air.
“Remus, last night, a student was out on the grounds.”
The teenager froze in his seat, a look of undaunted fear marring his young features. Dumbledore hadn’t said an animal, or an Animagus was on the grounds. He had said a student. That must have meant an innocent person, who didn’t know what the grounds held in the black of night, had been hurt. His entire body sat paralyzed as he realized what he must have done. What the monster inside him must have done, he thought bitterly. The taste of copper filled his mouth, and he felt like retching. How could he have allowed this to happen? Why did he choose to wander the grounds instead of staying in the Shrieking Shack, when he knew James wouldn’t have been around to help as usual?
Then another thought filled his head. He had just ruined one of his fellow students’ lives. They would never be able to live out their dreams, get their first job, or anything else they had planned to do. Their evenings would no longer be spent laughing, but worrying about what the night would bring. Their days wouldn’t be filled with bubbly life, but with pain and excruciating exhaustion.
Remus’s eyes began to prickle, and he could feel his blood begin to boil. How much of a prat was he? By adventuring across the Hogwarts grounds, he knew he would be possibly putting others at risk. Yet he had done it anyway, sweeping up in the raucous romance of fun. Now, he would forever hate himself for what he had done. No doubt the person whom he had caused this fate would harbor feelings of hatred for him, as well.
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, watching as Remus came to the conclusion. The Headmaster remained quiet, waiting for a question he was sure to come.
“Who was it?” Remus choked out, his voice barely more than a whisper but shaking just as much as his hands. Then, just as Dumbledore opened his mouth to explain, an image sped across Remus’s open eyes. A flash of something that had happened the night before; a flash of red, curly hair and terrified brown eyes.
The young boy’s eyes widened in shock, and his skin paled visibly. He sat there, gaping at what the hidden memory had shown him. No, he thought. No, not Irene, please, if it has to be someone, please, do not let it be Irene!
A memory crept across his scared eyes, and he could see a girl with flaming red curls fall to the ground, he could feel his past self sink his teeth into her arm, feel her warm blood flowing down his throat as he ravaged her. And all the while, her shrieks echoed in his ears, haunting him.
Leaning over in his chair, Remus pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes as hot tears began pooling around the surface of his dark orbs. A gasp escaped his lips as his thin frame heaved up and down from silent sobs. A few tears scorched a bleeding path down his face. They raced each other down his cheek, each filled with an aguish and sorrow not many came to know. He could feel his own heart beating irregularly. They seemed to be in partnership with his gasping lungs. His stomach was twisted into a gigantic knot.
“I’m sorry, Remus, I truly am. There is not much we can do for her. Irene Mahavior is currently residing in St. Mungo’s. At the moment, she is unconscious, but I am receiving hourly reports on her condition. The Healers are doing everything they can to stabilize her.” His voice seemed to have a small soothing effect on Remus, and the boy came out of his hunched position to stare his headmaster in the eye, tears steadily dripping off his chin and nose. His eyes burned red from tears, and his pale skin held angry red blotches.
His mind was working furiously, telling Remus that he had just ruined the life of one of his best friends. Irene had been his companion throughout the years, always a bundle of fun, but also knowing when it was time to be serious, unlike his fellow Marauders. She had a way of brightening the days before a transformation, and keeping his spirits up afterwards when he felt dead on his feet.
Irene had been a picture of life to him, and he might have just ended it in his recklessness. There were so many things about Irene that he always had taken for granted. Her presence had been there every day, and when he thought about the possibility of her leaving this world behind because of him, he felt like wanting to drown himself.
“Is she going to be okay, Professor?” Remus asked quietly. He knew there was the possibility that he might have killed Irene and that if she lived, she would be like him. She would become a raging, terrible werewolf; a killer. Although, in the back of his mind, or it might even have been his heart, he desperately wanted to believe that everything would turn out just fine in the end. And if Dumbledore told him everything would be alright, then it would be.
Dumbledore gazed at him for a moment before turning to look out the window, the sun a faraway symbol of light. “Remus, I really don’t know. Maybe it is old age, or maybe something deeper, but I am going to tell you the truth, for I know you would not want me to lie to you in a time such as this.” Remus nodded, understanding Professor Dumbledore’s trust in him to be able to take such a blow as truth. Dumbledore watched the young boy, admiring his bravery, before continuing. “Irene Mahavior was given less than a fifty-fifty chance to live. Once the werewolf had bitten her, she had fainted on the grounds, and by the time Sirius Black had brought her to me, saying he had been taking a moonlit stroll, she had slipped into a coma.”
Remus’s gut wrenched and heaved like the waves in a horrible storm. He couldn’t take it anymore, and leaned over the side of his chair and wretched. He brought the back of his hand to his mouth, wiping away the disgusting liquid, and Dumbledore waved his wand, vanishing the sickness.
His eyes held such sadness for Remus. He knew the pains of young love, but he was sure he had never experienced what Remus was going through. The knowledge that you might have ended the one thing you cared for above all was undoubtedly so hard on one’s heart; Dumbledore couldn’t believe someone as young as Remus Lupin could bear it.
As Remus sat before his headmaster, he allowed his thoughts to drift. There were things he might never be able to share with Irene, like he had planned. His first serious relationship, for one. He had tried to never allow his feelings for her to grow, but found that sometimes he would mess up, and place a hand on hers, or smile at her differently than usual. He pictured running his fingers through her head full of red curls. Then he thought of how she always complained about her glasses, when he thought they made her look like an intelligent woman. Now there was the chance that he would never be able to tell her any of this, or experience it.
And just like that, he came to a conclusion. No matter what the outcome was Remus would leave Hogwarts. He could no longer endanger his fellow students, nor bring anymore harm to the people he held dearest in his life.
“Professor,” he began, “I think I need to leave Hogwarts.” Even the words brought him a pain. Hogwarts was the only place where he had true friends, friends who loved him even though there was a monster residing beneath his skin. It was the one place where he had found someone he had only been able to dream about spending the rest of his life with, since he never had the courage to tell her about his feelings. But he thought it would be best to leave. There was no need to put others in the same amount of harm he had caused Irene, the one girl he harbored feelings for above all others.
“I thought you might feel that way, Remus, but let us wait until Irene might be able to come back to Hogwarts before you decide.” Dumbledore smiled kindly at Remus, and the boy took this as his cue to leave. He stiffly got to his feet and nodded at his headmaster before passing the ancient phoenix on his way out. Just as the door was closing behind him, he heard Dumbledore say, “Remus, do as your heart tells you to do.”
Well my heart is telling me that I demolished one of my best friends’ lives, Remus thought bitterly, his chest aching. The flash from the night before kept replaying in his mind as he began climbing the stairs back toward Gryffindor Common Room. He would not, could not return to his lessons. He felt as though he were being torn apart at the seams. All he could think about were the pair of horrified brown eyes.
Blinding white light and loud voices surrounded Irene Mahavior as she slowly came to her senses. She could sense a heated argument taking place around her, and she struggled to lift her heavy eyelids. They seemed to be sealed shut, screaming in defiance when she tried to raise them. Irene could hear voices drifting all around her, but she couldn’t focus on the individual words. Was she going deaf?
A loud shout jarred her from her musings, and she jerked slightly, but no one noticed. Trapping her inner scream, Irene lifted her eyelids to reveal dull brown eyes. She couldn’t see very far above her, as she was lying on her back without her glasses. Someone must have removed them. But why wasn’t she in her dormitory? And why was her arm feeling as though it had been to Hell and back again?
She could hear a very angry voice coming from her left. It sounded so familiar. Slowly, she turned her face and locked her eyes on the ruddy face of her Da. His eyes were bulging, and there were drops of spittle in his scruffy red beard. Standing next to him was her Mum, who didn’t look at all like her fiery self. On the contrary, she looked quite frail.
Turning her head the other way, Irene saw the person to whom her Da’s shouting was directed. A young blonde woman, who didn’t seem over the age of twenty-one, was clutching her clipboard to her chest and had a very offended look about her. She was glaring at Irene’s Da, and she removed a hand from her clipboard to place on her hip. Irene noticed that she was dressed in St. Mungo’s Healing robes.
Why am I at St. Mungo’s? Irene thought. I’m just fine, I wasn’t sick or anything. She turned slightly and looked beyond her parents to the open window. The white curtains were parted slightly, and she could see that it was nighttime. The millions of stars sparkled in the ebony black sky, and she began counting them to try and drown out the adults’ voices. She recognized other members of her family there as well, including her many cousins who attended Hogwarts, as well as the few Muggle ones.
She noticed that there was no moon in the sky. Funny, she thought, I thought it was full tonight.
And just like a train off its tracks, the memories hurtled at her faster than lightning. In front of her eyes stood a lone wolf, howling at the moon. Glowing, yellow eyes penetrated her very soul. Teeth as long as her fingers barred and snarled at her. She could feel his paws on her back; hear the panting of his putrid breath.
Her own eyes closed as she sank into a horrified trance of memories. She tried to shove the beast off of her, but he was too heavy. A monstrous dog bowled him over, but much too soon he was upon her again, sinking his blood-thirsty teeth into her arm. She could feel the flow of blood; feel the cracking of her bones.
“NO!” Irene screamed out, and her own shout brought her back to the present. Her breath was coming in short, irregular gasps, and she could feel the sweat slicked over her body. She felt bile rising in her throat. Her wild brown eyes darted all over the room, like a terrified deer.
“Irene,” her mum sobbed and threw herself down onto her daughter. Her arm gave an aching throb, but she ignored it. Irene could feel her mum’s warm embrace, could smell her rosewood scent, and she began to cry. Tears poured silently down her pale face, and she gulped air. Her Da had his large palm on her forehead, and his eyes had a pinched look about them.
Irene could hear above her mum’s cries the rest of her large family surrounding her small hospital bed. All she could see were masses of red hair and a mixture of blue and brown eyes. Each face was stricken with grief, and the women all looked as though they had been crying as well. Instinctively, Irene wrapped her left arm around her mum as the horrific truth beat down upon her. She couldn’t hide from it; it consumed her mind.
After many tears and hugs from various family members, the petite blonde woman slid through the group of Irish and Scots to speak to Irene. The traumatized girl awkwardly sat up in the little bed and pulled her legs to her. Her lifeless brown eyes settled on the blonde Healer, and she sighed heavily. The woman was going to tell her something she already knew.
“Hi, Irene Mahavior, my name is Lisa Stroh. I’m the assistant Healer in this ward, and I’ve been watching your progress over the past couple of weeks.” She held out her hand, and Irene lifted her own to give the soft spoken woman a soft handshake. She couldn’t have given the other her usual firm handshake even if she tried; she felt so frail and weak. Irene had never felt like this a day in her life. She had always been a fierce and fiery bird. She felt as if someone had blown her light out.
Not someone, she thought darkly, still surveying the young Healer. Something…a monster. She felt tears begin to prick behind her eyes, but she ignored them and gave the Healer full attention as she began to speak.
“Irene, a trained group of Healers performed many advanced spells on the arm that was bitten by the werewolf. It has healed, but I’m sure you are still in a lot of pain, and will be for a long time.” She looked highly upset at having to be the person to place the news upon Irene and her family. Taking a shaky breath, she continued, “Every person who was ever bitten by a werewolf obtains a scar that never heals for the rest of that wizard or witch’s life. Each scar is different, which is a pro in itself. Never does a werewolf want to be identified as such, so having different scars is a way they can keep their disease hidden. Many times though, the scar can depict a crescent moon shape. Do you see where yours is?”
Irene grabbed the sleeve on her right arm and pushed it up. Small lines of black, blue, and purple criss-crossed their way from her elbow up. Just above her elbow and ending beneath her shoulder, where the werewolf had first sunk his teeth in, there indeed was a hideous scar, darker than the tiny ones surrounding it. It was curved, looking almost like a crescent moon. The scar marred her pale skin and gazed up at her mockingly. All Irene did was stare at it. No one spoke for a long time as Irene looked at her blemish in a daze. A hard twinge of pain brought her back to reality, and she looked around her. Sitting on the bedside table were her square-rimmed glasses. Using her left arm, she picked them up and placed them on her nose.
“I’ve been unconscious for fourteen days?” Irene asked incredulously. When the Healer nodded, Irene sighed. Everything was happening so fast. She didn’t feel as if she was fully accepting the reality of the situation.
Healer Stroh gazed at Irene in sympathy before saying, “You will also experience a transformation, or a Turning, in about fifteen days. I won’t hide the truth from you,” she said, “because telling you the truth is safer than hiding the harder facts. Turnings are not a simple matter, not by far. You can expect them to be very painful, and you will have to be isolated from everyone when it’s time to endure one.”
She continued talking, but Irene only had one thought on her mind, and she interpreted the young blonde. “So, does that mean that I’m going to turn into a werewolf in two weeks?” When the Healer Stroh nodded again, Irene let the tears fall. Her entire life was being yanked from beneath her feet, and there was nothing she could do about it. All her choices were gone, all her plans surely tossed down the drain for her life. Who would hire a werewolf for anything? That’s when another thought hit her.
“Oh no! What am I going to do about school?” Irene fairly shrieked. Her mum placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and Irene turned to face her. She noticed her mum’s face was lined with worry wrinkles, and she looked utterly exhausted. Her features were pale as a ghost, and she had blue bags underneath her eyes.
“Don’t worry, Irene. We have already met with Professor Dumbledore, and he told us that there will always be a place in Hogwarts for you, no matter what happens.” She smiled slightly, and Irene knew she was thinking of what a great man Dumbledore was. She agreed whole-heartedly. Not many Headmasters would allow a werewolf to attend their school. “But,” her mum continued, “He asked that you do not reveal your condition to anyone outside of family. He told us it would not be wise, or safe to do so.” Irene nodded. She understood exactly what he meant. If she were to let slip that she now suffered from Lycanthropy, she would surely have not a single companion left in the world.
Kahlynn would leave her for someone like Lily Evans, who was a likeable enough girl.
The Marauders would distance themselves from her, maybe not completely, but she was sure they would be very reluctant to hang around her very often.
Remus would never like her, scared of what she had become.
Oh Merlin…Remus! A fresh bout of tears flooded Irene’s eyes and wet her glasses. There would be no chance she would ever be able to be with him now. He would hate her if he ever knew how she really acclaimed her scar, or she told him that she was a werewolf, a killer of the night. He would despise her, hate her. He might be more deep and understanding than the other Marauders, but there was no doubt that he would leave her in an instant if he knew what lay beneath her skin.
Healer Lisa Stroh was speaking again, and Irene pulled herself away from her depressing thoughts.
“There are many different changes a person affected by Lycanthropy can go through. For some, their eye colour starts to take on a golden hue closer to the full moon, while others’ personalities become more vicious near a Turning. Each person is different, and not everyone goes through the same changes as others,” Healer Stroh said. “Also, have you heard that silver can burn a werewolf’s skin?”
Irene nodded.
The Healer smiled. “This is not the case. It is just an old Muggle legend, and a werewolf can touch silver whenever he or she so chooses. And another thing…a werewolf, when coming upon the full moon, has changes in physic. Your body becomes much more agile, and your mind very cunning. After the Turning is over, though, you are probably going to feel very weak, more so, I’m afraid, than you do even now.”
Irene sighed heavily. Her body was aching, not to mention her right arm, which the pain had caused to go numb.
“Irene, we’re going to place you into a dreamless sleep. You need as much rest as possible before you are sent back to school. Your parents have agreed that you will be returned, so therefore, you will need to have as much strength as possible for your first Turning. It isn’t a pleasant process to have to go through, so you will need to be well rested.”
The young redhead nodded and the Healer handed her a vial of purple potion. Before Irene drank it, she gave her mum and Da a hug and said goodnight to the rest of her family, who were traipsing out of the hospital. Sinking back into the pillows, her Da removed her glasses and she brought the vile to her lips. Instantly after draining the drink, she could feel her body succumbing to a dreamless slumber, and she willingly let herself go.
Irene stood outside of Professor Dumbledore’s office, scared stiff. She had just returned to school and was told to meet with the Headmaster upon her immediate arrival. Her trunk had been taken to her dormitory by Professor McGonagall, who had met her at the entrance. Now, she would meet with Professor Dumbledore, who was going to explain her future at Hogwarts.
She slowly raised her left hand and knocked, the soft sound echoing dimly around her. She hated the softness. She wasn’t used to being soft. She wanted her strength, her fire, her life back.
The elderly man opened the door, smiling genuinely at Irene and ushering her inside his office. It was exactly the same as the last time she had visited when she had been caught levitating a Slytherin second year onto a chandelier. That seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Miss Mahavior, I must say that I am completely delighted to have you back at Hogwarts. The school sure has been quiet without your influence on our young and sprightly Slytherins.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled jokingly, and Irene mustered a small smile. That was just like Dumbledore to remind her of how grateful all the little nasty Slytherins were in her absence.
“I’m surprised Sirius or James haven’t stolen my occupation, then,” Irene replied, laughing as she did. It was the first laugh from her in the near three weeks she had been conscious. “Sir,” Irene leaned forward, suddenly very serious, “When will I find out the werewolf that bit me?” She had received a letter from Dumbledore while she was still in St. Mungo’s, informing her that if she so wished, she would be able to meet the werewolf that had bitten her. He had noted that the werewolf was extremely upset, and it had not been at all intentional. She didn’t care. She still hated the monster that had ruined her life.
“If you wish, Miss Mahavior, you may in a few moments, but first, we need to go over a few things with your condition.” Irene nodded slightly and Dumbledore continued. “How much do you know about werewolves, Irene?”
“Err…not much,” she admitted. “Only the bit the Healers told me in St. Mungo’s.” She shifted in her chair.
Dumbledore looked at her knowingly before continuing, “Well, there is a lot more to a werewolf than just his bite, or what happens to them on the full moon. I think it would be best to tell you first about the history and legends that surround werewolves.
“A werewolf is considered a Dark Creature, and a Dark Creature is an animal that has been considered to offend Nature. They are the opposite of Nature’s true creatures, for example merpeople and centaurs. For them to be named as Dark, they must be wrong; possibly not having a soul, or being alive when they shouldn’t be. Or, like some things, having the attributes of life without actually having life. Forgive me if I am not making myself clear to you,” Dumbledore smiled as Irene looked overwhelmed. Shaking her head, Irene nodded for the headmaster to continue.
“Werewolves, in particular, are considered Dark because the act of forcing your body’s shape into that of another would be enough to kill you. However, a werewolf cannot die from this act of transformation, because they are something of a supernatural being. A werewolf is basically stuck in a stage between being fully alive and completely dead. The magic that runs through your veins, Irene, keeps the Turnings from killing you. Do you understand?”
Irene gazed at him solemnly, her mind burning with unasked questions. How could she be dead, and at the same time be alive and breathing? Nothing was making sense.
“Also, another reason the werewolf is considered such a Dark Creature, is because the human brain must undergo such changes during a Turning that one can not usually remember anything once they have transformed back. The mind must shrink and bend to fit inside a werewolf’s skull, which I believe is pain beyond anything I myself have ever felt.” Dumbledore stood up and began pacing behind his desk. “As the brain has been formed to block out extreme amounts of pain, it does not have memory of the night of the full moon.”
Irene nodded, for she understood what Dumbledore had told her. She could see exactly why there would be no memory of that night. “But sir,” Irene asked, “what of the person’s heart during the transformation? Will I still be the same afterwards?”
Dumbledore gazed at her appraisingly before continuing on his walk. “The heart, Irene, is just an organ. Where your true feelings lie is inside your soul. Some people say that a werewolf has no soul, but I beg to differ. I think that it is just lying dormant until the Turning is over. You will still be pure and mostly the same when you awaken the next morning.”
“Mostly?” Irene whispered. Her eyes looked dull and sad. She didn’t want to change!
“Yes, I’m afraid there will be minor changes,” Dumbledore answered, his voice soft. “Nothing astoundingly different, I assure you. You may have a liking for a rarer delicacy of meats, and often times there are mood swings. When in a situation, Irene, just control your anger, for a wolf is swift to attack, and sometimes she will show herself, even when you are in human form.” Dumbledore finally stopped pacing and settled himself behind his desk once again.
Irene slumped back into her chair, trying to digest as much of the information as she could. There was so much she didn’t know, and so much she was soon to experience during the coming full moon, only about a week away.
“Also, I think, according to records, that you are only the third lupins, or female werewolf. There are many different theories on how the lupins differ from the vârcolac, their male brother. Many say that the female is often times more placid and gentle. Some even go as far as to suggest that the lupins have a greater control over their mind than the males. So this is definitely in favour of you, Miss Mahavior,” Dumbledore said optimistically.
Irene looked up and saw Dumbledore’s eyes sparkle with kindness and understanding. How could he ever understand? Irene though viciously. When was the last time his arm was almost ripped off by a werewolf? How often has his life changed so drastically all because of a hunger driven monster? Irene could feel her anger building up inside of her, bubbling up beneath her skin. She was angry. At herself, for being out on the grounds that night, at the werewolf who had caused her such pain, at Dumbledore for trying to understand. Why everyone couldn’t just let her be, and then maybe this terrible thing inside of her would just go away. Maybe it wasn’t even real…she could be dreaming right now, about to be tossed from her bed by Kahlynn.
But all her anger quickly evaporated when Dumbledore asked, “Are you ready to meet the person who bit you, Miss Mahavior?”
Irene could feel her heart begin to pound, her breathing speed up, and her adrenaline pumping quickly through her veins.
Dumbledore waited on her nod before he stood to allow the werewolf in, and Irene braced herself as a wave of hatred washed over her, and she hoped it would scorch the animal that had broken her. It was now or never.
When Dumbledore opened the door, however, Irene felt herself turn to stone. Her entire throat seized up, and she couldn’t breathe. Her face registered complete and total shock. She was staring into the eyes of Remus Lupin.
Remus stepped into the room, his eyes never leaving Irene’s face. It cut him open like a fresh wound as he saw shock and anger cloud her features, and then, after a moment, there were no emotions; nothing but blank and numb indifference. She seemed frozen in her seat, a huge block of ice. He also noticed that her hair didn’t look to have been combed lately. And her eyes….those beautiful brown sparkling eyes he had come to love…they looked dead.
“Irene,” Remus whispered, still standing in the doorway. He could feel his eyes prickling and he took a large gulp of air so he would be sure to not let one tear fall. His palms sweated as he stared into her eyes, which looked back at him blankly. There was no emotion. Where was his energetic, hyperactive friend?
You killed her, a nasty voice cackled in his ear.
“Irene, please,” Remus pleaded. His hands were wringing together and he felt as though there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. Slowly, Irene turned and faced the wooden desk in front of her, putting her back to Remus. He stared at the back of her head, numbly. Remus felt Dumbledore place a hand on his shoulder, and when he looked into the wizened face of his headmaster, Dumbledore gave him an understanding nod before ushering him into the chair beside Irene. When Remus took the seat, he noted Irene inched as far away as her own chair would permit.
“Now, listen, both of you,” Dumbledore said, folding himself into his own chair. “I want the two of you not speak to anyone about what has happened. None of the other students must know. The professors must be informed, naturally, but no one else.”
Remus nodded, but saw that Irene only stared blankly ahead.
“Another thing, Irene,” Dumbledore said, forcing her attention to him, “I want you to realize that what happened to you wasn’t Mr. Lupin’s fault. When a werewolf Turns, he loses his human mind, like I explained to you. The werewolf takes over, and the human cannot be accounted for his other side’s actions. I do not want you to go on thinking that this was Remus’s fault.”
When Irene made no move to reply, Dumbledore sighed and placed his fingertips together. The room was silent for a moment, and Remus could hear his own heart pounding in his chest. He hadn’t known Irene was going to react the way she was. He had expected screaming and objects being hurtled at him…but not this. He would rather have something thrown at him and declarations of hatred than have her silent and unmoving.
“Well, Remus, I would like you to show Miss Mahavior where the Turnings take place. Irene, you will be able to use Remus’s old spot, seeing as he is contemplating leaving Hogwarts. You may both go.” As the two rose at the same time, Remus went ahead and opened the door, and just as Irene reached him, Dumbledore spoke again. “And Irene…you may never leave the Turning spot. We cannot afford for another accident to befall on one of our students.” Remus looked down at this, knowing the comment was mostly directed at him.
When Remus shut the door behind him, he heard running feet and turned to find Irene already near the bottom of the winding staircase. He hurried after her, and when reaching the bottom shouted at her disappearing back. Growling, Remus began sprinting after her.
As Remus reached the bottom floor, he saw the front doors open to a fine drizzle. Through the rain, he could just spot a small figure heading toward the lake. Taking a deep breath, Remus tore after Irene, not caring in the slightest when he was immediately drenched.
“Irene!” he screamed after her, but she just kept running. Remus didn’t slow, and just as she reached the lake, Irene slid to a stop. Mud covered her robes from the mushy ground. Remus sighed in relief as she came to a halt, and moments later he joined her.
“Look, Irene, we have to talk,” Remus said gently, placing his hand on her arm. Her right arm.
The red head gasped loudly before wrenching her arm away from him. She glared out at the lake and whispered maliciously, “Do. Not. Touch. Me.” Her tone sounded powerful, but to Remus’s trained ears, he heard the quiver behind it. She was trying not to loose control in front of him, and he knew it was taking all of her strength. Still, her words cut through him like a knife, and he took a step back while raising both hands skyward. What had he done to her?
For the first time, Remus took a look at the arm he had bit. Light scars zigzagged across each other, covering her entire arm, but lying against them all was a horrible cut, dark as night. He knew that was where the animal inside of him had claimed his mark.
The rain was falling harder all around them, and Remus saw that she was shivering. He was as well.
“Come on, Irene! Just talk to me,” Remus shouted above the rain. Irene just shook her head before turning to face him. A relived look crossed his face before Irene ran headfirst into him. “Oomph!” he grunted, toppling over. The two of them landed in a heap, mud splattering their robes from the wet ground. Remus tried to sit up, but Irene began feebly punching him and he tried to block her frail attempts. As he looked at her face, he saw that it wasn’t just the rain that was wetting it. Tears were falling thick and fast beneath her glasses, and every few seconds a sob would wrack her body. Remus took a hold of her hands as she tried to hit his gut and he hauled the two of them to their feet.
Both of them were panting and before he could give Irene another chance to try and hurt him, he wrapped his long arms around her tightly, pulling her as close to him as she could get. And she gripped him fiercely back. The two Gryffindors stood in the pouring rain, silent except for the occasional gasp from Irene’s tears.
After a few moments, Remus broke the embrace and looked into her face. It was stained red and blotchy, but he also noticed that her lips were turning a slight shade of blue.
“Let’s go back inside,” Remus whispered, but Irene shook her head. Instead of walking back to the castle, she plopped down in the mud and stared out over the lake. Remus hesitated before joining her. The two of them watched as curtains of water fell across the Black Lake, turning the normally peaceful water choppy.
As they sat in silence, Remus wondered if he truly would leave Hogwarts. Irene hadn’t said anything when Professor Dumbledore had mentioned it, so maybe she wanted him to leave. He had wished to leave as well, but now he wasn’t sure. Hogwarts was such a part of his life, the one place where he had felt safe, where he had had friends. He didn’t know if he could give all of that up. But maybe he was being selfish. He knew in his heart that if Irene wanted him to leave, he would. Now, it was up to her.
And as if she had read his mind, Irene opened her mouth to speak. “Why did Dumbledore say you were going to leave Hogwarts?” He noticed she didn’t look at him when she asked, but continued to look out over the water.
Remus sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you anymore, Irene. Merlin knows I have already caused you enough pain. Your life is changed forever. I don’t want to hinder you anymore than I’ve already done.” He began ripping handfuls of grass out of the ground. When Irene didn’t speak, he looked up and saw her hunched over, thinking.
“Remus,” she said, sitting up and catching his gaze, “you have hurt me. And at first, when I woke up in that hospital bed and remembered what had happened to me, I hated the monster that bit me. I hated that he had taken my life right out from under my feet, hated that I might not ever get to see my friends ever again, and I was terrified of what would begin to happen to me every month.”
Her words clenched around Remus, making it hard for him to breathe. He continued to pull up grass, not looking into Irene’s eyes.
She continued, “But there was also something else that I was deathly afraid of. Do you know what it was?”
Remus finally looked into her eyes, or what he could see of them behind her wet glasses. What he saw made his heart flip over. There were no more blank looks, or pain and hatred etched inside her brown orbs. He slowly shook his head.
“I was scared about what would happen if you found out that I was a werewolf. I was frightened that if I ever told you, that you would stop being my friend.” She paused and took a deep gulp of air. “And I was also scared that you wouldn’t ever like me more than a friend.”
Remus could feel her eyes boring into his, and he stared right back. His breath was coming in quicker intervals as he digested what Irene had just told him. She liked him more than just a friend. Even though he was a werewolf, and through all that had unexpectedly happened between them. His heart was speeding up and his eyes flickered to her blue lips. He now had an inkling of why James obsessed over redheads, one in particular.
Gathering his courage, Remus leaned forward slightly and said, “Irene, would you mind terribly if I kissed you?” He waited, watching the rain droplets slide over her pale skin. When she shook her head, Remus leaned forward even farther, closing the distance between them. He could feel his breath coming even quicker, as was Irene’s. Just before their lips touched, Irene giggled softly. Pulling back, Remus felt the blood rush to his neck and cheeks before asking, “What?”
“Nothing,” Irene laughed again. Her own cheeks were a bit pink. “It’s just…your breath tickled me,” she smiled lightly, and Remus felt his own smile form.
Leaning closer, Remus whispered, “Let’s hold our breath,” before pushing his lips against Irene’s. When Irene pushed her lips harder against his, Remus felt his head spinning. He had kissed a few girls over the years, but none had felt as good as this. Maybe the other kisses just didn’t have the history behind them, Remus reasoned as he lifted a hand to caress Irene’s cheek. He could taste the rain on her lips, and also something salty, probably from her tears. He could feel her hands sweeping through his wet hair, and he shivered at her touch. Just as he thought he might suffocate from lack of air, Irene broke the kiss. When he opened his eyes, he saw Irene trying to catch her breath with a small smile dancing across her lips. They were no longer blue, but a dark red hue.
“Was that okay?” Remus questioned. When Irene nodded he felt his heart jump a bit, but tossed it off as adrenaline.
“Maybe we should do it again sometime,” Irene laughed, pushing her matted hair away from her face. She pulled her glasses off and used her wand to repel the rainwater. Placing them back on, Remus smiled when she said, “Don’t know how I aimed right with these things on.”
Just as the rain began easing up, Irene spoke again. “You haven’t told me where our Turnings are going to take place yet.” She smiled, knowing Remus would catch her use of the word our.
Pointing out to their right he explained to her the tunnel that ran under the Whomping Willow, which connected to the Shrieking Shack. She nodded in understanding. “I never knew why Dumbledore would want such a dangerous tree planted on the grounds. Now I do.”
Taking her hand, Remus pulled her to her feet. As the two of them began making their way through the rain, Remus wondered how he had ever even considered leaving Hogwarts. He now had an even better reason to stay.