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The Broken Boy Wolf


Remus had stopped bleeding sometime after the moonlight died and he’d turned back into himself. As his mind lifted from the fog his wolfish howls had quickly turned into boyish screams as the sensations returned to him. He may not have been bleeding any longer, but the bones and wounds were not quite healed, either. He couldn’t move - his body twisted grotesquely on the floor of the Shrieking Shack by the old, unused stone hearth on a torn and dust-covered blanket - one of the ones Sirius had brought out back at Christmas. Tears streaked his face, but the only thing he could move was one of his arms - the one pegged beneath him. The other flopped about pointlessly, dislocated from his shoulder.

Remus tried to pull himself along over the wood floor, but the pain it sent through his body was such that he nearly passed out and lay breathlessly, not even three feet from where he’d started. There was no hope of dragging himself to the trap door, not to mention back to Hogwarts. His wand seemed miles away, sitting up on the table in the kitchen, along with his other things. He didn’t know what to do, so he laid there, having smeared himself along through the pool of blood he was laying in. The pain was blinding and he could feel his spine was twisted funny, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about un knotting himself and he sobbed and wailed and cried out, begging for someone to help him, but nobody came.

Nobody would come, he told himself, nobody could hear him except the people who lived in Hogsmeade and none of them would dare come near the Shrieking Shack.

He passed out from crying and the pain sometime in the early morning and would come to now and again throughout the day, a fresh wave of horror and fear filling him up each time. The sun was beating down on the Shack and the rays that snuck in through the cracks in the boarded windows made dust motes shine gold as they rose up from the floor and he felt dizzy with thirst. He was sure he was going to die there on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. He imagined the golden dust was angels coming to collect him and he cried out for his mother.

By midafternoon, the golden dust motes seemed to be teasing him and he became angry with them. “Just take me with you already if you’re going to!” he yelled at them.

It was evening before Remus woke to the feeling of a hand gently touch his face.

This is it, he thought.

He weakly opened his eyes, unable to focus. “M - m - mummy?” he murmured, trying to see through the bleariness. There was a woman’s face looking down upon his. She gathered his head up into her lap and he smelled a mild soap and mint and tea.

“It’s going to be alright, Remus,” a voice said gently.

There was a flash of bright white light and Remus could have sworn he saw a cat squeeze it’s way through the cracks in the window.

“Mummy?” he whispered again.

“It’s Professor McGonagall, Remus” she said softly, and now he noticed the voice was lilting with a thick Scottish accent. It was the accent that made him truly realize it wasn’t Hope Lupin. McGonagall was running her fingers gently along his jaw, “I’ve got you, boy.”

Tears fell across his nose, spilling over his cheeks. “Please,” he whispered.

“Help is on the way,” McGonagall whispered. She waved her wand and conjured a tea cup. “Aquamenti,” she said and she held the cup to Remus’s lips, “Drink,” she commanded gently.

Remus felt the water on his lips, falling into the cracks of his skin. He was so weak all he could do was let it fall, but trickles of it hit his tongue and slid into his throat and he was thankful for it.

McGonagall looked about the shack, her heart sinking at the state of it, feeling ashamed that the poor boy had to be out there alone. It was a horrible place, terribly despicable, and she had to turn away and force herself not to think on it. In her lap, Remus was whimpering, his face screwed up tight as the pain returned to his clearing mind. “What is taking Dumbledore so bloody long?” she said out loud, frustrated and afraid for the poor boy in her lap. She looked at Remus, “We need to move you. I’ll levitate you to Madam Pomfrey’s,” she decided. She waved her wand.

But the moment that the spell lifted Remus off the floor, he let out a shrieking cry so sharp with pain that she immediately let him back down again. His screams rang through the shack. “NO! NO! STOP IT! STOP IT! NO! JUST LET ME DIE! I’D RATHER DIE!!” he screamed.

McGonagall felt tears in her eyes. She didn’t know what to do, so she simply sat there amongst the dust and blood with the poor broken boy wolf laying across her lap, crying nearly as hard as he was. At least she was there and he was no longer alone if - Merlin forbid it, something were to happen… She shook the thought out of her mind and her hands clutched onto him, desperate to do something for him. “I’m sorry, my boy,” she whispered, trying to calm him down, but it wasn’t working, his sobs wrecked through his body and with each shiver a fresh pain caused another and he clutched onto her right back with his one good arm, begging for the hurt to end. “I’m so sorry,” McGonagall said.

There was a crying shriek that was not from Remus - this one was more hopeful and she felt her soul catch fire with relief. The trap door in the floor behind her opened and light filled the dark room - warm, comforting light, as Fawkes the Phoenix circled the ceiling before landing in the dust beside Remus. Fawkes’s crimson feathers were a stark difference to the dingy grey of everything else in the shack. McGonagall looked over her shoulder and saw Dumbledore emerging from the tunnel. “ALBUS!” she cried, “Oh Albus! Help him!”

Dumbledore’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of Remus and McGonagall on the floor, the pool of blood surrounding them, and he hastened over without saying a word. Behind him from the tunnel came Madam Pomfrey, carrying a black bag. Fawkes had leaned his head down against Remus’s cheek and a pearly white phoenix tear dripped onto Remus’s face, sliding across his skin, quieting the tears he was sobbing. “Good, Fawkes,” Dumbledore murmured. He looked to Pomfrey, who was settling down beside Remus as well, her eyes horrified. “What do you think, Poppy?” he asked as Fawkes moved from cut to cut, shedding pearly little tears into the open gashes in Remus’s skin.

She shook her head in horror. “This poor boy,” she gasped. She waved her wand gently over him, and various colored sparks issued out of the tip, telling her what she needed to know about what was the matter, and she gasped and inhaled sharply several times as she moved it up and down his legs and torso and shoulder. “He’s dislocated his shoulder,” she mumbled, “And his hip… his knee cap is shattered… his ankle… he’s lost a lot of blood, Albus.”

“What do we do, Poppy?” he asked.

“I can’t treat this,” she whispered, “It’s magical wounds what’s caused this… he needs to go to St. Mungo’s. He needs to be treated with mor’n potions. Casts and the like.” She looked at him apologetically. “I’m so sorry.”

Dumbledore nodded. He reached down and gathered Remus up into his arms, ignoring it when Remus screamed out once again. “I am very sorry, Mr. Lupin,” Dumbledore said, “But it must be done and unfortunately it must be sooner rather than later. I do hope you will forgive me.”

McGonagall stood up, “I’ll come with you,” she said quickly.

Dumbledore shook his head, “No, Minerva, I need you to look after the school. Do get in touch with Lyall, and tell him to come to St. Mungo’s immediately… The Lupins’ new house elf, Tizzy, will be most helpful. I’ll send word as soon as we know anything at all.” And with that, he turned on the spot and disappeared, Fawkes going with him.

McGonagall’s hands clapped over her mouth as she stood in the stirred up dust, her heart breaking for Remus. Pomfrey reached into her black bag and dug about until she came up with a small bottle, “Tonic, for the nerves, Minny,” she said gently.

McGonagall waved it away, “No, Poppy, but thank you.”

Pomfrey replaced the bottle in her bag, and then removed her wand and started cleaning up the blood from the floor with a grim expression.




When McGonagall got back to the castle, it was after all the students were to have returned to their common rooms. She was nearly to her office when she heard Filch shuffling down the corridor behind her and she turned to find he was clutching James and Sirius by their arms, so tight that they were sure to have bruises. “Professor!” he cried out, wheezy, “I’ve found these two out of bed after hours!”

McGonagall nodded, “It’s alright, Argus, they were coming to see me. Release them.”

Filch looked positively crestfallen. “Oh.” He dropped his grip, glowered at the pair of them, and slunk off, muttering to himself about chains and detentions.

“I thought I told you two to wait in Gryffindor tower?” McGonagall asked, eyeing them.

James looked up at McGonagall with wide, worried eyes. “We were, but - we couldn’t wait any longer. Professor - where’s Remus? Is he alright? What’s happened?”

McGonagall sighed. There was no use in keeping it from them, she decided. “Come along with me, boys, we’ll talk in my office.”

Sirius looked at James with concern at how wobbly McGonagall’s voice was.

They hurried after her down the corridor to her office door and inside they both scrambled to take the seats that McGonagall always commanded them to. She settled herself behind her desk, and Sirius saw blood on her hands. “Professor,” he said slowly, “Where is Remus?” He was suddenly very terrified to hear the answer.

“Dumbledore has taken Mr. Lupin to St. Mungo’s,” McGonagall said thickly.

Sirius shook his head, “What happened, Professor? Is he alright?”

McGonagall’s mind flashed to the image of the poor boy crying and sobbing on the floor in the shack and she closed her eyes, her lower jaw trembled slightly.

“He’s alive isn’t he?” James asked, his voice on the verge of hysterical.

“Yes,” McGonagall said, “He is alive, but he is very badly injured.”

Sirius jumped up, “We have to go and see him.”

McGonagall shook her head, “We cannot go and see him, not yet. Wait until we have heard from Dumbledore. Mr. Lupin’s… condition…”

“It’s his Furry Little Problem, Professor,” James injected. “That’s what we call it. He doesn’t like condition. It makes him feel badly about it, you see.”

McGonagall’s heart broke once more for Remus. She’d never considered how horribly the poor boy must feel, being apart from the other boys in such a way, never considered how words like condition might make him feel. “His… his furry little problem makes this a very delicate situation, you understand. His injuries are not merely broken bones and tears to his skin and muscle, they’re werewolf bites, each one of them, and they are very hard to treat. The bones will have to set the way a muggle’s would, no magic will repair them.”

Sirius winced at the thought of it. “But that’ll take ages. What about classes? What about term?”

“We will work with Remus as best we can,” McGonagall said, unsure herself how things would work out.

James stared up at McGonagall, “But - but he’ll be okay, won’t he?”

McGonagall said, “I certainly hope so, Mr. Potter... I certainly hope so.”