Current mood:

scared

Ruled by the Moon: Prologue
And this is my baby. This is the fabled "Remus-centric fic" that I've been working on for about a million years. I've been agonising over this for so long, tweaking and fiddling and shifting words around, and I don't think I'll ever be happy with it. But here it is. *takes deep breath, tries not to delete the post*

Title: Ruled by the Moon (Prologue)
Author: Me, nellie_darlin
Disclaimer: Not mine. Jo's.
Pairing/Characters: Remus/Sirius (unrequited so far!)
Rating: G (at the moment. It will rise.)
Genre: Everything! Tis Lupin's Life!
A/N: Many millions of thanks to lyras and fireworkfiasco for the beta-ing, and their endless patience with my vacillating and sometimes shocking writing habits. Feedback is adored.

Summary: Being an account of the life of Remus J Lupin, Esquire, from his first day at Hogwarts to his last on this earth. In many chapters. Also starring Sirius Black, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and the various inhabitants of Hogwarts and the wizarding world.

Teaser: At five minutes to nine on the 3rd of September, 1963, just as it was getting dark, the doors to Bristol’s Glover Hipworth Hospital slammed open.



At five minutes to nine on the 3rd of September, 1963, just as it was getting dark, the doors to Bristol’s Glover Hipworth Hospital slammed open. A man in his mid-thirties stumbled in, cradling a small boy in his arms. A gasp went round the crowded Magical Accidents and Emergencies room – surely, no… not dead?

“Will someone please help me?” the man sobbed into the shocked silence. “My son – my little boy -”

The Welcome Witch on duty, a small, blonde young woman called Gladys Dodge, rang the silver emergency bell on her desk. “Please step this way, sir,” she called. Helpful hands pushed the distraught father towards her, and dazedly, he allowed himself to be propelled.

“My son -” he repeated, upon reaching the desk. His son’s accident seemed to have robbed him of coherent speech.

“Yes, sir, what’s wrong with him?” Gladys asked, patiently, her normally dazzling smile fading at the sight of the limp body in the father’s arms. The boy was deathly pale, his head flung back, and a green foam was bubbling at his white lips.

“Bitten,” the man managed. “Werewolf!”

Gladys’ skin crawled and she had to force down the urge to scream. Behind the boy’s father, she saw the patients shrink backwards as fevered muttering swept among the assembled invalids. Trying to control her shaking voice, she said, “T-take a seat, sir. A Healer will be with you directly,” only wondering afterwards if that was the right thing to do.

“Th-thank you!” he said, his voice taut with exhaustion, and turned to go. The witch nearest to him took a hurried step back, and Gladys knew it was not from politeness, but from fear. The man gave her a brief, bewildered glance before hurrying past. A moment later, a Healer, responding to Gladys’s bell, rushed up to the desk.

“Well?” she asked, in a harassed tone.

“Werewolf bite. The man over there, holding the little boy.”

With a nod, the Healer turned on her heel and went up to the man, who was pacing back and forth between the chairs. At the sight of the lime-green robes, he almost ran to her, his face a conflicting mess of worry and relief and hope.

“Werewolf bite, eh?” the Healer said, briskly but not without sympathy. “I’m Helga Hedgewick. You are?”

“John Lupin. This is Remus.”

“Well, Mr Lupin, come with me. This needs urgent attention.”

Looking pathetically grateful, John Lupin followed the Healer through the corridors of the hospital, determinedly not meeting the eyes of the witches and wizards they hurried past. Two flights of stairs and several dizzying turns later he found himself in a small, private ward.

“Just put him down on the bed there, Mr. Lupin,” the Healer instructed, pulling on a pair of dragon-hide gloves. “Can you tell me approximately when he was bitten?”

“About…about an hour ago.”

Frowning with concentration, Healer Hedgewick inspected the wound, taking stock of the crusted blood, the green-ish tinge to the flesh, and the clear liquid weeping from the ravaged skin. She worked quickly, but not fast enough – the boy was stirring, his mouth twisting and his eyes screwed up in pain. Confused, scared, and above all, filled with a terrifying pain, the boy started to cry.

“Assistant Healer Ingell!” Hedgewick called out, and a petite witch hurried into the room. “Begin preparing a sleeping draught – we’ll need him unconscious when we cleanse the wound.”

The Assistant Healer nodded, her jaw clenched, and hurried to her task, nearly fumbling the vials in her haste. Lupin took his son’s hand and patted it, helplessly.

“Ssh, Remus,” he murmured, “Ssh – everything is fine, it’s all fine…”

Suddenly, Remus went rigid, his back arched, his eyes wide and staring, and he screamed a horrible, wrenching, blood-curdling scream.

“Hurry, Ingell!” Hedgewick cried. Remus screamed again. He was shaking and moaning, and his legs were starting to thrash about. “Mr Lupin, I need you to restrain your son.”

“I’m trying, I -”

“Do it! We don’t have much time.” Almost catatonic with shock, Lupin forced Remus back onto the bed, and took hold of his ankles. “The potion, Ingell, please? Thank you. Now, you hold his arms.”

Between them they restrained the struggling child, and Hedgewick managed to get some of the potion into his mouth, and then a little more. He spluttered weakly, coughed once, then slumped against the mattress, floppy as a rag doll.

“Right,” Hedgewick said, nodding with satisfaction. “That should keep him under. Hedda!” A witch dressed in the lilac robes of a hospital orderly poked her head round the door. “Hedda, take Mr Lupin to the waiting room, please. Give him a draught to settle him.” Dropping her voice, she said, "And see about contacting Mrs Lupin. She will need to be here for the registration later." The orderly nodded.

“But, Healer, my son -” Lupin gasped, as he was pulled to his feet by the orderly.

“He’ll be fine, Mr Lupin,” the Healer replied, brusquely. “You, however, are about to collapse, and will be in the way. Go with Orderly Persie, Mr Lupin. You will see your son soon enough.”

The door swung shut, and Hedgewick set to work. With practised efficiency, she cast a powerful cleaning charm on the wound, then another when the first was unsuccessful. Slowly, the green tinge receded, and the weeping stopped. With another, complicated gesture, the folds of skin knitted, stitching darting along the lacerations, and a third Summoned a roll of bandage and bound the wound securely. Hedgewick sat back, satisfied. There would be a scar, of course, but the wound would heal.

Now for the hard part.

It was almost eleven o’clock when they finally settled Remus into bed. An hour of spells and potions, of compresses and remedies, all aimed at slowing the relentless advance of the poison. Empty potion vials crowded the table next to the bed, and the smell of sulphur and pungent herbs lingered in the air. The boy was sleeping peacefully now, a touch of colour in his cheeks.

“Has it worked, do you suppose?” Assistant Healer Ingell asked softly, tucking the blanket more securely around the child.

“No,” Hedgewick replied sadly. “I mean, he’ll live. But he’s almost certainly a werewolf. He’d have done better to die.”

“Why do you say that, Healer?” Ingell was worried. She had never seen the Healer look so broken, never even seen her succumb to any emotion before.

Hedgewick turned a pitying expression on her junior. “You’ve never seen a werewolf case before, have you?” she asked. “I have. I hoped I’d never see one again. I wouldn’t wish the life upon anyone.”

And she walked away along the ward, her shoulders bowed.



Next