Bitten
Title: Bitten
Characters Remus Lupin
Summary: Remus takes a look back to the moment when he was bitten.
I was five when Fenrir bit me, only a child. I don’t know the full details as to why I as bitten, I only knew it was because my father had angered Fenrir Greyback, who was a well known Werewolf, especially around where we lived. He who preyed on the weak people in the neighbouring villages; the sick, the elderly, the young. I couldn’t say for certain what possessed my father to get involved with Greyback of all people, getting involved with Greyback can only mean one thing. Death. Not just for you, but for your entire family.
The first thing I remember about that night was the wind. Speeding through the trees with a loud howl, strangely reminiscent of the ones we knew we would hear echoing in the forest later that night. The forest was well known to the people as Werewolf Woods. A safe enough place for Werewolves to run freely, but at a far enough distance away from the village to give them sufficient warning if one got too close.
The house I lived in as a boy, and still own to this day was situated on the edge of the village, however was still within the confines of the village wall. I remember starting out of the window and watching the three or four men who were charged with watching the wall during the night, to guard against the werewolves. Even though the villages consisted mainly of Muggles, Werewolves weren’t creatures of Ledged, they were real creatures, which could possibly rip you to pieces. The muggles in the village not only accepted the existence of the Werewolves, they let them live as part of the village during the rest of the year, giving them the same status as everybody else. And it worked, even if the Magical folks in the community were a little wary.
It was a particularly warm summers evening, so my Mother, who was tall, graceful, with sparkling Emerald eyes and chocolate brown hair that fell down her shoulders in little curls, had flung all of the windows open in an attempt to cool the place down. Were my father there he could have performed a cooling charm, like he often did during the hot summers, before dragging me onto his lap to listen to my mother as she read stories. But he wasn’t there; he had gone to visit his friend that morning, looking worried and withdrawn. I will always remember his face, pulled into a pained expression, like he wanted to say goodbye but couldn’t, before disappearing, his robes billowing behind him. I didn’t know it at the time, but I would never see my father again, at least not he had left me. At the time, my mother had tried to reassure me that he would be back, he always came back. Which was true. He had left hundreds of times before, always returning. I don’t know whether she was trying to convince herself, or me that he would be back, but at the time I believed her, wanted to believe her.
In an attempt to comfort me, she drew me into her arms, tucking my head under her chin. Whispering unintelligible words in my ear, pressing kisses on my forehead. We stayed like that for a few minutes, her holding onto me, and me, well I didn’t have a clue as to what was happening. Slowly she led me to the couch, before gently pushing me towards it, so I sat down. Then she began her usual routine of walking quickly and eagerly towards the bookshelf, yet taking her time to select the perfect book. Finally she settled on what would later become one of my favourite books, a book of Muggle fairytales. Despite both me and my father being both wizards, my mother always made sure I understood everything Muggle, including the fairytales with which she had grown up. My favourite story always has been, and always well be Beauty and the Beast, not that, that little piece of information should be repeated to anyone.
She was halfway through the story of Snow White, the story before my favourite, when the sound of the first howl cut her off. It was closer than usual, prompting the guards on the wall to hold there wands aloft, ready for an attack. As if the howl acted as an alarm, my mother realised that all of the windows were open. Something that should never be done during a full moon. Placing the book on the couch she rushed towards each window in turn, bolting them shut, before returning back to me, and gathering me tightly in her arms. Picking the book back up she continued with the story, her normally steady voice, hoarse and stuttering. This went on for a further five minutes, before we heard a sound that made my mother gave a silent scream, and me to grip tighter to her shirt, trembling from fear. A window had just smashed, the window in the kitchen, the one facing the forest. Standing up quickly she didn’t put me down. Instead she looked as though she would never let me go again. Rushing towards the fireplace, she grabbed the first thing she could find, which would make a makeshift weapon to protect both me and her. But one woman holding a child and brandishing a fire poker would be no match for a fully grown werewolf. Before she could even react, a figure bounded through the door towards us, sinking its teeth in my leg, before pulling sharply on me.
My mother took a wild swing at the offending body, but missed by a huge amount, as he dragged me across the room, away from my mother. She lunged for me but was knocked back by a second, almost identical body. As the creature dragged me from the house, screaming, and crying, I could here my mother’s voice, screeching through the night, “Remus, My Son.”
I don’t know what happened between me being dragged from the house, and now. I was lying in on the path in the forest, in unbelievable pain. There was only one mark on my body. Teeth marks on my right shoulder, from which blood oozed, staining my ripped shirt. I was alive. Curling up into a ball a tear fell down my cheek, before I realised that I was alone, ad injured in the middle of the forest, so I did the only thing I could think off, I shouted for my mother, for my father, for somebody to find me. I screamed until my throat was sore, and could force no more sound out, in which case I screwed my eyes shut, the tears streaming down my face, praying for somebody to find me.
The next time I woke, I was laid on a bed with crisp white sheets. Unfamiliar figures bustled around me wands drawn, casting various healing charms on the other patients. Turning my head to the side my mother was dozing quietly, her head resting on her folded arms propped up by only my bed. “Mom” I managed to force out, causing her too shoot up, gazed fixed on me.
She must have stood staring at me for a good ten minutes, most likely asking herself if I was really awake. Without warning she flung herself towards me, burying her face in my shoulder. “Thank god you’re alive,” she said before repeating over and over that she was sorry.
I may have been only five, but I was not stupid. I’d inherited my mother’s brains; love for knowledge and of books. I knew exactly what had bit me, even if I did not know who. I knew I had been bitten by a werewolf, and I also knew the consequences of that, of what I had become, or would become during the next full moon. But I could not react, could not form the tears that would have usually fell when I heard my life as I knew it was over. Once a month I would change, I would not go to Hogwarts, I would not be getting a job, especially since in light of the events, the villagers had shunned werewolves, following in the footsteps of the Ministry. But I still did not cry, I think my mother cried enough for both of us.
Characters Remus Lupin
Summary: Remus takes a look back to the moment when he was bitten.
I was five when Fenrir bit me, only a child. I don’t know the full details as to why I as bitten, I only knew it was because my father had angered Fenrir Greyback, who was a well known Werewolf, especially around where we lived. He who preyed on the weak people in the neighbouring villages; the sick, the elderly, the young. I couldn’t say for certain what possessed my father to get involved with Greyback of all people, getting involved with Greyback can only mean one thing. Death. Not just for you, but for your entire family.
The first thing I remember about that night was the wind. Speeding through the trees with a loud howl, strangely reminiscent of the ones we knew we would hear echoing in the forest later that night. The forest was well known to the people as Werewolf Woods. A safe enough place for Werewolves to run freely, but at a far enough distance away from the village to give them sufficient warning if one got too close.
The house I lived in as a boy, and still own to this day was situated on the edge of the village, however was still within the confines of the village wall. I remember starting out of the window and watching the three or four men who were charged with watching the wall during the night, to guard against the werewolves. Even though the villages consisted mainly of Muggles, Werewolves weren’t creatures of Ledged, they were real creatures, which could possibly rip you to pieces. The muggles in the village not only accepted the existence of the Werewolves, they let them live as part of the village during the rest of the year, giving them the same status as everybody else. And it worked, even if the Magical folks in the community were a little wary.
It was a particularly warm summers evening, so my Mother, who was tall, graceful, with sparkling Emerald eyes and chocolate brown hair that fell down her shoulders in little curls, had flung all of the windows open in an attempt to cool the place down. Were my father there he could have performed a cooling charm, like he often did during the hot summers, before dragging me onto his lap to listen to my mother as she read stories. But he wasn’t there; he had gone to visit his friend that morning, looking worried and withdrawn. I will always remember his face, pulled into a pained expression, like he wanted to say goodbye but couldn’t, before disappearing, his robes billowing behind him. I didn’t know it at the time, but I would never see my father again, at least not he had left me. At the time, my mother had tried to reassure me that he would be back, he always came back. Which was true. He had left hundreds of times before, always returning. I don’t know whether she was trying to convince herself, or me that he would be back, but at the time I believed her, wanted to believe her.
In an attempt to comfort me, she drew me into her arms, tucking my head under her chin. Whispering unintelligible words in my ear, pressing kisses on my forehead. We stayed like that for a few minutes, her holding onto me, and me, well I didn’t have a clue as to what was happening. Slowly she led me to the couch, before gently pushing me towards it, so I sat down. Then she began her usual routine of walking quickly and eagerly towards the bookshelf, yet taking her time to select the perfect book. Finally she settled on what would later become one of my favourite books, a book of Muggle fairytales. Despite both me and my father being both wizards, my mother always made sure I understood everything Muggle, including the fairytales with which she had grown up. My favourite story always has been, and always well be Beauty and the Beast, not that, that little piece of information should be repeated to anyone.
She was halfway through the story of Snow White, the story before my favourite, when the sound of the first howl cut her off. It was closer than usual, prompting the guards on the wall to hold there wands aloft, ready for an attack. As if the howl acted as an alarm, my mother realised that all of the windows were open. Something that should never be done during a full moon. Placing the book on the couch she rushed towards each window in turn, bolting them shut, before returning back to me, and gathering me tightly in her arms. Picking the book back up she continued with the story, her normally steady voice, hoarse and stuttering. This went on for a further five minutes, before we heard a sound that made my mother gave a silent scream, and me to grip tighter to her shirt, trembling from fear. A window had just smashed, the window in the kitchen, the one facing the forest. Standing up quickly she didn’t put me down. Instead she looked as though she would never let me go again. Rushing towards the fireplace, she grabbed the first thing she could find, which would make a makeshift weapon to protect both me and her. But one woman holding a child and brandishing a fire poker would be no match for a fully grown werewolf. Before she could even react, a figure bounded through the door towards us, sinking its teeth in my leg, before pulling sharply on me.
My mother took a wild swing at the offending body, but missed by a huge amount, as he dragged me across the room, away from my mother. She lunged for me but was knocked back by a second, almost identical body. As the creature dragged me from the house, screaming, and crying, I could here my mother’s voice, screeching through the night, “Remus, My Son.”
I don’t know what happened between me being dragged from the house, and now. I was lying in on the path in the forest, in unbelievable pain. There was only one mark on my body. Teeth marks on my right shoulder, from which blood oozed, staining my ripped shirt. I was alive. Curling up into a ball a tear fell down my cheek, before I realised that I was alone, ad injured in the middle of the forest, so I did the only thing I could think off, I shouted for my mother, for my father, for somebody to find me. I screamed until my throat was sore, and could force no more sound out, in which case I screwed my eyes shut, the tears streaming down my face, praying for somebody to find me.
The next time I woke, I was laid on a bed with crisp white sheets. Unfamiliar figures bustled around me wands drawn, casting various healing charms on the other patients. Turning my head to the side my mother was dozing quietly, her head resting on her folded arms propped up by only my bed. “Mom” I managed to force out, causing her too shoot up, gazed fixed on me.
She must have stood staring at me for a good ten minutes, most likely asking herself if I was really awake. Without warning she flung herself towards me, burying her face in my shoulder. “Thank god you’re alive,” she said before repeating over and over that she was sorry.
I may have been only five, but I was not stupid. I’d inherited my mother’s brains; love for knowledge and of books. I knew exactly what had bit me, even if I did not know who. I knew I had been bitten by a werewolf, and I also knew the consequences of that, of what I had become, or would become during the next full moon. But I could not react, could not form the tears that would have usually fell when I heard my life as I knew it was over. Once a month I would change, I would not go to Hogwarts, I would not be getting a job, especially since in light of the events, the villagers had shunned werewolves, following in the footsteps of the Ministry. But I still did not cry, I think my mother cried enough for both of us.