Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Canis Lupus
Canis Lupus
0 reviewsVarious points in the HP series through the eyes of everybody's favourite werwolf.
0Unrated
Canis Lupus
November 1993
The werewolf lay curled into a ball on an comfortable leather chair that stood close to a worn wooden desk. The chair was comfortable because nearly forty years' worth of differently shaped bottoms - some with only one buttock - had sat in this chair and attempted to mould it to it's own shape, as a result softening the chair immensely. Bits of foam poked out of the corner and the green leather was thin and faded underneath the mighty canine's body.
The werewolf leapt down from the chair, deciding to sleep somewhere else instead; the chair was far too small for the heavy grey mass that was now Remus Lupin.
Remus was ignoring the fact that he knew the small seat was only a distraction.
Remus tried not to miss Sirius. He tried to train himself to automatically call him 'Black' in his mind, and most of the time it worked. Not on full moon, though.
Remus gazed out of the window out of alert, hungry yellow eyes. There it was, that orb of softly glowing rock, hanging innocently enough in the sky. The moon ruined his life. But he couldn't help but feel a strange attraction, a pull, when he looked up at it. He felt an unwelcome urge to leap out of the window and run, run outside, away from his problems, run, run, run, until he could feel the bitter longing no more.
The wolf missed the dog. It was a fact - a cold, hard fact - but truth was stony and unsavoury. It had been years, and many, many moon cycles since he had last enjoyed a full moon. For the last few months before that October night, it had been only the dog and the wolf, so Remus was unfortunately aware that the best time he had had about those times was with /Sirius/. The /traitor/.
Moony still trusted. He could not forget that friendly canine face in the darkness, that loveably roughed-up stray dog, that reminder that somebody cared.
That black furry dog bore no reflection to the conniving man who sold his best friends to Voldemort. How could he? How could that friendly, scruffy dog be the same man that killed Lily and James?
Remus could forget, for the most part. So why couldn't Moony?
Remus pulled his gaze from the bitter moon and flopped forlornly onto the floor under his desk, and pined for his friends.
July 1995
Remus paced his dingy flat with a sense of distinct unease. Something unsettled him every time his head touched the pillow and he closed his eyes.
He rubbed the back of his neck. He was sweating. Now he was very uncomfortable. Perhaps it was something to do with his canine side; full moon was fast approaching and his senses had sharpened. It had always intrigued him when canines seemed to be able to tell when something was wrong (and something was very wrong), but it was always slightly disconcerting when he felt it himself. More so tonight, with the third task of the Triwizard Tournament only being six days previously. Six days and not a word ...
As he though this, a huge bear-like dog trotted uncertainly down the hallway of the grubby, small apartment building. It was a little-known place, only a few stories high. It was built over a specialist apothecary that supplied the rare Wolfsbane potion to some of the more civilised werewolves. The dog knew that there was in fact a few stories below, too, the lowest of which contained huge, depressing reinforced cages.
He stopped outside the right flat. The dog breathed deeply to steady his nerves and scratched on the door.
It flew open and an agitated, tall, thin man appeared. He stared wildly into the vacant space in front of him, as if daring himself to look down to waist height where Padfoot stood.
His head moved slowly and stiffly, so much so that Padfoot was dimly surprised his neck didn't creak as the vertebrae strained under muscle and sinew holding up Remus' head. Padfoot stared up at Remus for a fraction of a second and swiftly slipped inside through the gap between Remus' right leg and the doorway.
The door slammed shut behind him, and the second he turned disbelievingly to face his old friend, a pair of shaking arms threw themselves around his shoulders. Remus stood there, dreading hearing what happened ... Sirius would not show up like this and endanger his life - and Remus' freedom - without reason ...
"Something's happened," stated Remus. Sirius pulled back and stood there, struggling to keep himself upright. He was shaking. With a shuddering sigh, he leaned back onto Remus' nearby second-hand dining table.
"He's back," he said, fighting to keep the emotion out of his voice, but a quiver betrayed him. "Voldemort - he came back last week."
Remus needed to sit down. He walked blankly to his shabby single armchair and collapsed into it. No sooner had he sat down when he buried his face in his hands, unable to comprehend. He heard Sirius flop onto the floor, he heard him breathing loudly and quickly, almost hyperventilating. Remus dully noted it, perhaps Sirius hadn't really faced up to it yet ...
The memories came flooding back ... the worst week of his life, it had been ... the week in which he lost all of his friends ... all Voldemort doing ... and he was back now ... back for Harry ...
He heard a dry sob behind him and weakly raised his head. Sirius was sitting on the threadbare carpet, his legs bent tightly to his person, rocking back and forth ... one, wildly shaking hand covering his face, which was crumpled, his teeth bared ... Remus was hardly aware that he'd risen and walked to Sirius until he was already by his side. He seized Sirius's free hand and dragged him to his feet, and embraced his only friend left in the world like a brother. There was an unspoken agreement between the distraught men ... they could not loose Harry. Not after everything. The two friends could not take much more grief.
July 1996
The scene replayed over and over in his mind. He had a better grip on the fact than Harry did, but it was no easier to cope with. Sirius was gone. His childhood friend, his best friend. The only friend he has - had - left on earth. James and Lily were dead, Peter was as good as dead to Remus, and now Sirius was gone too. Remus suddenly felt like throwing a juvenile tantrum; it wasn't fair! Why did everything happen to him! Was he curse to those around him, those he loved? His parents were afraid of him. The few girlfriends he'd had all left him when they found out about his lycanthropy. He loved James and Sirius like they were his brothers and now they were both dead. He'd loved Lily with all his heart - even though he'd never told her so, the only man she'd ever really wanted was James (she hadn't had a serious boyfriend before James). He was a curse!
June 1997
It was safe to say that it was the most confusing damned night of his life. He didn't know whether to fall apart with grief or explode with fury. He was lost as to whether he should take that blasted Tonks and knock some sense into her pretty head, or sweep her into his arms and kiss her, damn it. Should he retreat into a deep depression, because his mentor had been murdered by a man they'd all trusted? He honestly didn't know.
After the events in the Hospital Wing, all those who weren't residing at Hogwarts went and got rooms at the Hog's Head - it was a dingy place, but Madam Rosmerta needed a rest and a quiet night, seeing as she had to put up with the knowledge that she had inadvertently aided in the murder of Albus Dumbledore.
Remus wanted to be a gentleman and get a room of his own, but she'd insisted on sharing hers with him. ("It won't do you any good being on your own after tonight!")
Remus had felt like a nervous teenager when he'd lain down in the same bed as her. He'd kept his trousers on, but Tonks had told him off for being so childish when he'd wanted to keep his shirt on. He'd attempted to lie down on the floor, much to Tonks' protests. ("You're not lying down on the floor, you daft beggar, get here," she scoffed.)
This one didn't look like she was leaving any time soon. He was nothing short of amazed by her show in the hospital wing, and felt like a criminal on trial, who was innocent and whom nobody believed. It was intensely irritating, and all of the pleading looks he sent around the room bounced right off the recipient, many of whom were wearing smug looks, as if he was a small child who was adamant that one plus one equalled eleven.
But none of that mattered now, because Remus had at least one person who loved him, something he thought he would never have again. He'd be damned if he was going to let this one slip through his fingers like all the others.
Don't forget to review! I may have used the phrase 'loved him like a brother' or something along those lines rather often, but I'm trying to get rid of those confounded RL/SB undertones that people always seem to see in my writing, even if I don't see them myself.
/lain/: Not sure about the grammar of that.
/who was innocent and whom nobody believed/: Ha ha, the irony ...
November 1993
The werewolf lay curled into a ball on an comfortable leather chair that stood close to a worn wooden desk. The chair was comfortable because nearly forty years' worth of differently shaped bottoms - some with only one buttock - had sat in this chair and attempted to mould it to it's own shape, as a result softening the chair immensely. Bits of foam poked out of the corner and the green leather was thin and faded underneath the mighty canine's body.
The werewolf leapt down from the chair, deciding to sleep somewhere else instead; the chair was far too small for the heavy grey mass that was now Remus Lupin.
Remus was ignoring the fact that he knew the small seat was only a distraction.
Remus tried not to miss Sirius. He tried to train himself to automatically call him 'Black' in his mind, and most of the time it worked. Not on full moon, though.
Remus gazed out of the window out of alert, hungry yellow eyes. There it was, that orb of softly glowing rock, hanging innocently enough in the sky. The moon ruined his life. But he couldn't help but feel a strange attraction, a pull, when he looked up at it. He felt an unwelcome urge to leap out of the window and run, run outside, away from his problems, run, run, run, until he could feel the bitter longing no more.
The wolf missed the dog. It was a fact - a cold, hard fact - but truth was stony and unsavoury. It had been years, and many, many moon cycles since he had last enjoyed a full moon. For the last few months before that October night, it had been only the dog and the wolf, so Remus was unfortunately aware that the best time he had had about those times was with /Sirius/. The /traitor/.
Moony still trusted. He could not forget that friendly canine face in the darkness, that loveably roughed-up stray dog, that reminder that somebody cared.
That black furry dog bore no reflection to the conniving man who sold his best friends to Voldemort. How could he? How could that friendly, scruffy dog be the same man that killed Lily and James?
Remus could forget, for the most part. So why couldn't Moony?
Remus pulled his gaze from the bitter moon and flopped forlornly onto the floor under his desk, and pined for his friends.
July 1995
Remus paced his dingy flat with a sense of distinct unease. Something unsettled him every time his head touched the pillow and he closed his eyes.
He rubbed the back of his neck. He was sweating. Now he was very uncomfortable. Perhaps it was something to do with his canine side; full moon was fast approaching and his senses had sharpened. It had always intrigued him when canines seemed to be able to tell when something was wrong (and something was very wrong), but it was always slightly disconcerting when he felt it himself. More so tonight, with the third task of the Triwizard Tournament only being six days previously. Six days and not a word ...
As he though this, a huge bear-like dog trotted uncertainly down the hallway of the grubby, small apartment building. It was a little-known place, only a few stories high. It was built over a specialist apothecary that supplied the rare Wolfsbane potion to some of the more civilised werewolves. The dog knew that there was in fact a few stories below, too, the lowest of which contained huge, depressing reinforced cages.
He stopped outside the right flat. The dog breathed deeply to steady his nerves and scratched on the door.
It flew open and an agitated, tall, thin man appeared. He stared wildly into the vacant space in front of him, as if daring himself to look down to waist height where Padfoot stood.
His head moved slowly and stiffly, so much so that Padfoot was dimly surprised his neck didn't creak as the vertebrae strained under muscle and sinew holding up Remus' head. Padfoot stared up at Remus for a fraction of a second and swiftly slipped inside through the gap between Remus' right leg and the doorway.
The door slammed shut behind him, and the second he turned disbelievingly to face his old friend, a pair of shaking arms threw themselves around his shoulders. Remus stood there, dreading hearing what happened ... Sirius would not show up like this and endanger his life - and Remus' freedom - without reason ...
"Something's happened," stated Remus. Sirius pulled back and stood there, struggling to keep himself upright. He was shaking. With a shuddering sigh, he leaned back onto Remus' nearby second-hand dining table.
"He's back," he said, fighting to keep the emotion out of his voice, but a quiver betrayed him. "Voldemort - he came back last week."
Remus needed to sit down. He walked blankly to his shabby single armchair and collapsed into it. No sooner had he sat down when he buried his face in his hands, unable to comprehend. He heard Sirius flop onto the floor, he heard him breathing loudly and quickly, almost hyperventilating. Remus dully noted it, perhaps Sirius hadn't really faced up to it yet ...
The memories came flooding back ... the worst week of his life, it had been ... the week in which he lost all of his friends ... all Voldemort doing ... and he was back now ... back for Harry ...
He heard a dry sob behind him and weakly raised his head. Sirius was sitting on the threadbare carpet, his legs bent tightly to his person, rocking back and forth ... one, wildly shaking hand covering his face, which was crumpled, his teeth bared ... Remus was hardly aware that he'd risen and walked to Sirius until he was already by his side. He seized Sirius's free hand and dragged him to his feet, and embraced his only friend left in the world like a brother. There was an unspoken agreement between the distraught men ... they could not loose Harry. Not after everything. The two friends could not take much more grief.
July 1996
The scene replayed over and over in his mind. He had a better grip on the fact than Harry did, but it was no easier to cope with. Sirius was gone. His childhood friend, his best friend. The only friend he has - had - left on earth. James and Lily were dead, Peter was as good as dead to Remus, and now Sirius was gone too. Remus suddenly felt like throwing a juvenile tantrum; it wasn't fair! Why did everything happen to him! Was he curse to those around him, those he loved? His parents were afraid of him. The few girlfriends he'd had all left him when they found out about his lycanthropy. He loved James and Sirius like they were his brothers and now they were both dead. He'd loved Lily with all his heart - even though he'd never told her so, the only man she'd ever really wanted was James (she hadn't had a serious boyfriend before James). He was a curse!
June 1997
It was safe to say that it was the most confusing damned night of his life. He didn't know whether to fall apart with grief or explode with fury. He was lost as to whether he should take that blasted Tonks and knock some sense into her pretty head, or sweep her into his arms and kiss her, damn it. Should he retreat into a deep depression, because his mentor had been murdered by a man they'd all trusted? He honestly didn't know.
After the events in the Hospital Wing, all those who weren't residing at Hogwarts went and got rooms at the Hog's Head - it was a dingy place, but Madam Rosmerta needed a rest and a quiet night, seeing as she had to put up with the knowledge that she had inadvertently aided in the murder of Albus Dumbledore.
Remus wanted to be a gentleman and get a room of his own, but she'd insisted on sharing hers with him. ("It won't do you any good being on your own after tonight!")
Remus had felt like a nervous teenager when he'd lain down in the same bed as her. He'd kept his trousers on, but Tonks had told him off for being so childish when he'd wanted to keep his shirt on. He'd attempted to lie down on the floor, much to Tonks' protests. ("You're not lying down on the floor, you daft beggar, get here," she scoffed.)
This one didn't look like she was leaving any time soon. He was nothing short of amazed by her show in the hospital wing, and felt like a criminal on trial, who was innocent and whom nobody believed. It was intensely irritating, and all of the pleading looks he sent around the room bounced right off the recipient, many of whom were wearing smug looks, as if he was a small child who was adamant that one plus one equalled eleven.
But none of that mattered now, because Remus had at least one person who loved him, something he thought he would never have again. He'd be damned if he was going to let this one slip through his fingers like all the others.
Don't forget to review! I may have used the phrase 'loved him like a brother' or something along those lines rather often, but I'm trying to get rid of those confounded RL/SB undertones that people always seem to see in my writing, even if I don't see them myself.
/lain/: Not sure about the grammar of that.
/who was innocent and whom nobody believed/: Ha ha, the irony ...
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