[ Part two of three]
Three weeks later
The nightmares were bad again. They mostly acted up every few days, but for the passing week all (Y/n) could see when she closed her eyes were the hideously crooked fangs of Fenrir Greyback as he snarled, his beastly hackles raised in anticipation of a bite. The reason why she awoke at four o'clock instead of six, deciding that it was stupid to pretend like she would fall back asleep, and ventured out of the castle at five o'clock.
A fine mist had gathered over the grounds when she strolled down the hilly terrain on the way to Hagrid's hut. It was still faintly dark, although the sun was standing on tiptoes on the horizon, but it would take at least another hour for the mist to clear. The air in her lungs was crisp and moist, and she savoured the silkiness of it across her skin - even though she could feel her hair frizzing by the second. It probably wasn't the safest option to saunter through the forest unattended – and she knew that, but she was getting awfully good at ignoring her conscience lately – but if there was anyone awake at this time of the morning, anyone actually worth talking to, it would be Hagrid. The track beneath her feet and slope of the hills was second-nature to follow as she neared the edge of the forest, sparing a quick glance at the thin silhouettes of the trees nestled in the mist like a briary fence. She could almost imagine dark, shadowy figures watching her through the mist – she shook off the feeling. The Dementors weren't allowed this far into the castle grounds, Dumbledore made sure of that.
The mist had thickened into fog around Hagrid's hut so that she could barely make sense of it and had to squint to see the tall, bulky shape of a man whistling as he tended to the pumpkin patch. Her ears could also catch the sound of a dog barking in the distance as her footsteps crunched beneath her, but she was pleased enough to see Hagrid to care whether or not it was a hallucination. Hagrid only seemed to notice her when she got close to the pumpkin patch, putting down his farming tools and standing up, rubbing his hands on his soiled clothes.
Hagrid was grinning, "What are you doing around so early in the mornin'?"
"The early thestral catches the hare, Professor." (Y/n) grinned back.
"Not been sleepin' much, have ye now?" Hagrid said knowingly.
The smile vanished from her lips.
"I still have a day left." She muttered.
Another person she had told about her 'moon curse' was Hagrid. It had been less for comfort and more for information when her friends finally convinced her to tell Hagrid that she was becoming a werewolf. The reason being was because Hagrid knew more about Hogwarts – especially about the surrounding grounds, like the Forbidden Forest itself – than most other wizards and witches did. If there was a place where she could transform– and she needed to find it desperately, since it was only one day's time until full moon – Hagrid would be the one to know. He had been really helpful with suggestions of where to change, he added a few more places each time she visited, and had shown nothing other than kindness, which was so typical of Hagrid when it came to dangerous creatures.
"Where's Fang?" (Y/n) asked.
"Sniffin' somewhere out in the fores'," Hagrid grumbled, "Gone mad, he has. Ever since Sirius Black's been missing from Azkaban, Fang's been howling in the early mornin' and late at night as if he's seen another dog – but what kind of dog would be out in the fores'?"
(Y/n) shrugged. She almost made a passing remark about it almost being full moon, since that was what muggles always said when their dogs went crazy, but she decided against it.
"Feel like a cuppa?" Hagrid offered blissfully, taking a deep lungful of the fresh Irish air, "I made fresh rock candy."
"I think I'll give it a skip today, but thank you, Hagrid." She quickly replied, her smile more panicky than she'd tried to put on, "I think I'm going to scout out those places you told me about. I can't keep avoiding it."
The large wizard seemed disappointed, he was easier to read than a puppy, but there was a cheery grin on his face despite it all. It made an itching jealousy burn beneath her skin – what she would give to have even a drop of that optimism.
"You remem'er where it is?" Hagrid described, "It's near those great big trees at the edge of the fores'. That's where you'll be if ye take the shortcut to the Shriekin' Shack. If ye get lost, circle back to the lake smack dab in the middle of it. Nothing but the nasties go out there."
She smiled gratefully, "Thanks, Hagrid."
The endearing wizard waved her off as she started heading into the forest, where he kneeled back in the loamy soil and sprayed drops of flesh-eating slug repellent onto his pumpkins.
(Y/n) remembered a time when the Forbidden Forest used to be her favourite place. It was more interesting to go to than the library because there was always the adrenaline humming in her bloodstream with the thrill of being caught. She gathered her friends and they would march into the Forbidden Forest searching for rare and dangerous creatures to catch, calling themselves the 'Hogwarts Investigative Safety Squad' or "HISS" for short (they tried not to talk about how nerdy they used to be in their younger years). Every Saturday afternoon, they would sneak around the forest and catch glimpses of some of the most peculiar and beautiful creatures. They had been lucky enough to sit among the unicorn herd for a handful of occasions (except for poor Phineas, since unicorns didn't take kindly to males) and they had even seen the centaurs on patrol, but were ratted out to Dumbledore by Firenze and put on detention with Filtch cleaning the bathrooms for a month. Amelia had always been the one that dared them to stay longer in the dark forest, even proposing a camp-out on one occasion, because she wanted to see what things lurked in the darkness and the shadows. Unfortunately, now, (Y/n) already knew that answer – tomorrow night, it would be (Y/n) herself.
The forest twisted around her like the fat body of a snake, coiling around her until all she could see for kilometres were bare trees and wiry-looking brambles shrouded in the mist. It should have scared her, but instead it made her feel safe instead of secluded. Or, maybe, there was something about being far away from the prying stares of other people that she longed for. In truth, she had always been a bit of a loner, but now, ironically, she was a lone wolf. If only she could trade this and be an Animagus instead, not slaving for a ruthless moon, then it would be easier. But sometimes you don't get to choose – sometimes Life chooses for you. Leaning against the trunk of a particularly large pine tree, (Y/n) let the mist pool in her ears and allowed it to bleach the sickening images of Fenrir Greyback's twisted jaws filled with crooked canines, and his ashy fur as it became matted with blood. Could she be seeing a vision of what she was to become? Would it be her – the merciless beast – snarling over a defenceless victim when next she closed her eyes after the full moon tomorrow? Was she destined to become a murderer?
A veil of cold descended over her. It was a force that rinsed all happiness from her and replaced it with a stomach-knotting dread that felt permanent and devouring. A feeling so overpowering that she wanted to sink to her knees and sob – it felt like nothing would ever be joyful again. Terror burned like the promise of tears in the back of her throat– a Dementor.
A ghostly hand of rotting flesh and crooked, black fingernails was stretching out towards her, and nearly grazed her spine, when she hurdled back from the Dementor and landed hard on her back. Breath gasped from her as she reached for her wand – but there was nothing there. She knew it must've fallen out during the fall and started scratching in the leaves and scattered pine needles, blinking through the thick mist that started to burn her eyes.
She held out her hand, her neck snapping back wildly to see the Dementor closing in with its unsightly mouth gaping for a kiss, and shouted, "Lumos!"
The wand didn't spark with light, but remained hidden in the haze that seemed to thicken during her struggle. The supernatural chill was only worsening as other dark figures started to appear among the trees – dozens of Dementors lured by her fear and the frantic tremor of her thundering heart.
"Lumos!" She cried again, shaking her palm out in front of her. Nothing happened. The Dementors crowded in closer; forming a nefarious circle around her - a cage with prison bars that were hastily closing in. She said the spell again, her voice rising with panic as the Dementor's chill pulled goosebumps from her skin.
She screamed, "Lumos Maxima!"
A burst of light flickered by her foot and she snatched up her wand, aiming it right into the wraithlike face of an oncoming Dementor, but by then it was too late. The Dementor wrenched some of her soul as she screamed in agony, the words of the spell stolen from her mouth, flailing onto her back. What felt like hundreds of other glacial hands seized her arms and legs, pinning her to the floor while they extracted her soul. Hovering above her, she gazed weakly into the face of her own death as its cold, dead lips came closer and closer – she could feel the light within her dwindling like a candle in the wind.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A bright and brilliant light illuminated the forest in an unearthly glow; it stretched and coiled into a metaphysical beast that rapidly dashed through the air and snapped its jaws at the face of the Dementor, only seconds away from performing its fatal kiss. A beast that ripped its razor-like claws into the side of the Dementor, that flew away with grotesque screeches. This beast, with shimmering silver fur, inclined its head in a majestic arch and howled – the piercing sound ringing in her ears - scaring away the other Dementors as the patronus radiated its pure energy signature. (Y/n) had never been so thankful to see a wolf in her entire life.
Someone was speaking with horror in their voice – she could feel the tremble of their warm fingers as they stroked her shoulder. The pain piercing her eyelids made it difficult for her to open her eyes and her stomach was rolling in nausea, but when her eyes fluttered open partly, she only saw a blurry silhouette surrounded by heavenly light. It must have been an angel. Her angel.
"Miss Carrow?" The voice was whimpering her name repeatedly, "Carrow? (Y/n)?"
The blurred lines focused and adjusted to the light. It was him – there was no mistaking the delicate set of his features or the gentle sculpting of the contours of his face. Remus Lupin – he was her angel. In the ethereal glow of the patronus-light, she could see the thin, pale scars scratched over his face. She had never seen anyone look so beautiful.
"Professor?" She breathed.
The professor exhaled a sharp breath of relief and gently lent a hand to pull her to her feet. The first thing she felt was a sudden agonizing head rush and she tumbled weakly into his chest. Warmth surrounded her as his arms enfolded around her as he softly steadied her on her feet. The breath from his lungs moved her head as he cradled her against his torso, handling her as if she was a feather that may break with the faintest of motions. When her head had stopped spinning, she took a reluctant step back from Lupin to see that he was holding something out to her. She took it hesitantly, silver foil crackled around it, while its familiar scent wafted to her nose.
"It's chocolate. It'll make you feel better." Lupin persuaded. It didn't feel right to tell him that she already felt better – the heat from his body still ghosted across her skin – so, she took a small nibble on an edge of the chocolate. It was a heady taste of dark chocolate that cascaded smoothly down her throat like liquid velvet and it stopped the nauseous churning of her stomach. It wasn't long before she took another bite - this time, she popped an entire block on her tongue and allowed it to run down her throat.
"What are you doing out here, (Y/n)?" Lupin asked with worry present in every syllable.
She lied tactfully, "I'm looking for Hinkypunks."
Lupin looked partly exasperated and partly hysterical, "You were looking for Hinkypunks in the Forbidden Forest?"
She shrugged timidly, "To be honest, sir, I always thought the name was more ironic than literal, anyways."
Although she could have been wrong, (Y/n) had just tangoed on the brink of death with a fatal partner that had tried to literally suck the soul out of her, but she could have sworn that there was a spark in his eyes that showed he was impressed. The mist was still thick, she could barely see her own feet in the dry foliage, but a dim shine had caught her attention. It was the flask, she realised suddenly. The flask for the Wolfsbane, which must've fallen out of her pocket when she was pinned under the Dementors.
(Y/n) had to distract him, "Do you think the Dementors are gone?"
It had just the effect that she wanted. Lupin curved his neck to the side to see if any of the shady figures had remained, allowing her a fleeting moment to grasp the flask and pocket it. If there was one person that didn't need to know about her becoming a werewolf – or what Phineas was starting to call her 'furry little problem' – it was Lupin. When the auburn-haired man finally turned back from glancing into the clearing, (Y/n) knew she had to shake him off of her trail before he suspected anything.
"Er – thank you for saving me, Professor." She muttered sort of lamely, but embarrassment often did that to teenagers, "but I should keep going down the trail if I want to find a Hinkypunk. Or as my muggleborn friend says, 'keep on trucking'."
Seriously? She thought to herself blushingly. You couldn't think of anything else? Literally anything else.
If she could have transfigured herself into an ostrich so that she could hide her head in the sand, she would have. Instead of doing that, she threw her hands in her pockets and strode as quickly as humanly possible further into the misty woods to try and get as much distance as possible between them, but Fate was meddling in her life again as she heard crunching footfalls thumping behind her.
"You're going to continue wandering willingly into your own danger?" Lupin accused with disbelief contorting his face, "Even after you were attacked by the Dementors?"
"I'm not worried." She replied, "Besides, it's not really 'wandering' into my own danger if I know what's out here. It's more like 'sauntering vaguely' into danger.'
The mist swallowed her completely as she trudged through the undergrowth, which was quickly becoming more ragged and briary as the path progressed. There was silence for about five minutes before she believed to have lost him, but then a crunching of twigs underfoot seemed to follow her – and she doubted that Dementors would be that conspicuous. She rolled her eyes, but felt quite flattered that he thought her worth the trouble.
"I promise that I know what I'm doing." She called over her shoulder, "You don't have to follow me."
It surprised her to feel Lupin's warmth right beside her – he was far stealthier than he looked – and her heart melted with the defiant twinkle in his sky-blue eyes.
"If I can't dissuade you to return to the castle, then I'm going to have to join you." Lupin remarked.
The half-hearted part of herself that wished to continue through the forest alone was in terrible conflict with the compelling desire she felt to have him near her. It was just something soothing to have Lupin walking beside her – something intimate and warm that lived in his skin that drew her towards him. He understood her need for the forest quiet and did not speak unless she started the conversation – and she was grateful for that. That way, they could share the alluringly beautiful depths of the forest in a way that was almost private. As if the forest had been created for the two of them to just be together in comfortable silence, not needing to say anything because their very presence was enough. A sigh escaped her lips in a wispy plume – she wished she could stay there forever. Without the press of people's eyes as they scrutinized you, or the thousands of tireless questions people would ask if they saw them together. It was so much simpler.
"There's something that I don't quite understand about you, Miss Carrow." Lupin admitted and, from the set of his shoulders, he seemed almost embarrassed to ask. It was cute.
She stole a glance at him from across her shoulder, "And what's that, Professor?"
"From what I know of you, your reputation is flawless. You clearly aren't a disobedient student." Lupin said, "Yet, here you are in the Forbidden Forest, doing something that's against the rules. They say that a man's motivations can determine how they act." His voice was a whisper almost lost to the mist, "I only wonder what your motivations are."
The next glimpse she had of him, she didn't care if he saw it or not. It perplexed her so much that she nearly stopped walking. Her lips were puckered, slowly moving as if grasping for words that would not come to her aid. It wasn't the first time that this happened with Lupin – he had the unfailing ability to take her breath away.
"Not everything is written in black and white.' (Y/n) spoke softly, "Sometimes there are grey areas. I'm a grey area. I do things that matter – or, at least, I try to do that. It doesn't work out all the time – but I think as long as you try to do the right thing, it doesn't really matter what happens in the end."
They approached a white-washed scene where the mist had gathered in such thick hordes that (Y/n) felt as if she was trapped in a cloud. The building's silhouetted impression stuck out against the white and she glanced meaninglessly further into the fog – somewhere out there, a sturdy wire fence bordered around the shack that prohibited people from entering, cautioning them to return to Hogsmeade. She could feel the dread hit her stomach like a deadweight as she realised that this was where she was going to have to change tomorrow night. It would be the safest place for both her and any unfortunate straggler. She inhaled sharply, too sharp since it sounded like a stifled gasp.
Lupin was watching her steadily, "Scared of ghosts?"
"Dead people?" (Y/n) swallowed against the lump that had formed in her throat, "No. It's the ones who are living that scare me."
It didn't comfort her to be surrounded by mist anymore, or to have a silence so cutting that it felt forbidding to take a breath. She could feel her emotions – fear being the ringleader- overwhelming her. A tremble shook through her body as she pressed herself against the trunk of a nearby tree, drops of water dribbling over her forehead as they fell from the leaves of the pine tree. Lupin's gaze was like it always was – gentle but questioning, while a deeper thought echoed through his mind.
"A few weeks ago, when you performed the Patronus charm," Lupin probed gently, "Something happened to your patronus – something that I believe you know the cause of. I've tried to figure it out by myself, but I hit a blank every time. What happened?"
She stiffened. The peeling bark of the tree was rough to the touch as her fingers clenched around it. Her heart was thrumming again – fluttering like a hummingbird about to drink nectar from a flower. She wanted to tell him – but the memory was fresh in her mind like a still-bleeding wound.
"I just thought of something else." (Y/n) confessed sombrely, "I suppose you could call it a reoccurring nightmare of mine. I've tried to ignore it – tried to distance myself from it, but every time I close my eyes..."
She could sense the odorous pant of Greyback's breath slithering over her forehead, see the sadistic satisfaction burning in the werewolf's eyes as his paws tore into her skin, along with the feel of the disembodied warmth of blood that wept from her wounds.
"Th-the worst part is that my nightmare hasn't even started yet." She stuttered; her eyes haunted as she stared at the gentle haze of their quiet surroundings.
Lupin said, "It's often the unknown that scares us the most, even when we don't realise that it's the unknown itself that frightens us. But the unknown doesn't have to be scary – it's only a part of life. If you go on hiding your head in the sand, all of the good things will leave you behind."
A shiver trembled down her spine and she rubbed her knuckles over her green sweater sleeves to try to warm herself up. The chill was slowly soaking into her bones.
Lupin noticed it, "Here, take my coat."
"Oh no, I couldn't." She meekly responded, but Lupin had already shed one of his arms from the threadbare coat and was sliding the other arm out. It looked as if it was a well-worn tweed coat; it was in good condition, since she could tell that the coat was quite old.
"I insist." Lupin said kindly.
There was no way that she could say no when he said it so sweetly. Lupin stood behind her and courteously helped to fit her into coat, which she quickly discovered was far too big for her and hung down farther than her waist. It made a chuckle boom from his throat, which made her blush, and then he told her that it suited her. As soon as the coat draped over her shoulders, his warmth filling up her every crevice while his scent tingled in her nose, she glanced at him with a smile on her face and thought that maybe, just maybe, her professor might be right.
- - -
"What in Salazar's name are you doing here?" Phineas yelped.
A thousand snide words blistered like venom on her tongue, but she kept silent and staggered into her seat. The prefect was so stunned that his flaxen eyebrows were wrenched nearly to his hairline and a forgotten spoon of cereal was hovering in his fingers.
"Well," (Y/n) rasped, her voice a dry croak, "You don't expect me to sit out on all the fun, do you?"
"It's full moon." Phineas swallowed, looking quite pale, "You shouldn't be here. Snape gave you the day off from your classes. You should still be curled up in the dorm, compulsively eating Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans..."
"I prefer Chocolate Frogs." (Y/n) muttered drily.
"...not strolling recklessly into the Great Hall like you've got a death wish!" Phineas gushed worriedly. The delicate wisps of his fair hair were tousled and scruffy as he leaned forwards suddenly to whisper to her. His lips were moving quickly and he was speaking in a voice so inhumanly low that it was almost inaudible. "If you leave quickly, maybe the other professors won't see you. You can go back to the dungeons - fake an illness for Merlin's sake. Do anything other than what you're thinking of doing!"
"I am sick." (Y/n) remarked with a cynical brow-raise, "Full-moon fever, remember?"
The fork quivered in her fingers as she ensnared a few dollops of runny scrambled eggs – her third favourite type of eggs – onto the prongs of her fork and flung it onto her plate with a crude splat. Next was a piece of toast so charred that it was almost cremated to ash and she buttered it pitilessly, bleeding strawberry jam on top of it. The maimed toast made a hollow ring as she dropped it on her plate before she squinted at her friend, seeing his horror-stricken face.
"What?" (Y/n) goaded, "Werewolf got your tongue?"
"I'm worried about you, Carrow. You're shaking." Phineas' words were dripping with agony, "Have you seen your face? You're pale as a powdered poltergeist."
"That's not a fair comparison." She complained, "We're British – we're all pale – and I'm perfectly healthy. You could even say that I'm over the moon."
He didn't laugh at the joke. If anything, it made him more uneasy. It was by pure bad luck that this was happening to (Y/n); she had created a mask of titanium and slipped it on when she felt the weakness consume her, but somehow it only made her feel worse to think that she hadn't hidden her symptoms as well as she thought she had. She was weak. More than weak, she was nearly a glass figure for how the fragility soaked into her bones and made everything hurt. It felt like blood was turning to ice in her veins and puncturing shards in her heart for all the agony she felt. An agony that stole her breath and burned in the back of her throat like asphyxiation.
It was difficult to tame the tremble in her fingers, but she managed to pick up her knife and fork; gouging some of the gooey eggs and bringing it to her mouth. It never got there since the smell that struck her nostrils, like she was breathing needles, was a sickening whiff that lurched her stomach. Weakly, she cluttered the cutlery to the plate and pushed it hastily away. Thoroughly green in the face.
The silver flask from her robes' pocket made a hollow, metallic clunk as she placed it on the table. The liquid sparked into blue arcs as she poured it into a chalice and swallowed it in one revolted gulp, the potion oozing down the back of her throat like algae. She shuddered and pursed her lips in disgust. It was a rush to slosh some water in her chalice and gulp it down, where she wished for something with flavour that could mask the hideous taste, but she had been warned by Snape not to eat or drink anything more potent than water for at least fifteen minutes to an hour after taking the potion.
"How bad did you say that stuff was?" Phineas was the first to break the silence, "On a scale of one to ten? Where one is pumpkin juice and ten is Polyjuice potion."
"I don't know." She admitted, lips still crinkled from the gag, "Er – I'd probably give it a twelve on most days. I think I must be getting used to it already, since it tastes a little better today. So, probably a nine."
"You didn't add anything to it, did you?" Phineas clucked, his eyes managing to look accusing and concerned at the same time, "You know you're not supposed to."
"No, mum. Of course, I didn't add anything!" (Y/n) insisted cuttingly, shaking the hollow flask for him to see, "It's the same flask I've been drinking from for days. It's not like I misplaced it in the washroom."
Phineas' cheeks reddened, "It would at least explain why you're so shaky today."
(Y/n) didn't know how to reply. The potion's effects were starting to take over – but not in the usual way that the potion made her feel. With her eyes closed, she could feel her heartbeat throbbing against her eyelids and hear what people were whispering a few tables away, even when it should have been impossible to hear them. The change, as Professor Snape had put it, was strong inside of her. Blood flowed from her heart to her head in dizzy spells, drawn through her arteries as if by a strange and cryptic magnetism, or maybe it was only the moon surging it through her body with its power as it did with the tides.
The food vanished from the golden platters; a warning for the students to begin to leave for their classes or else they would be late. The Slytherin girl wobbled to her feet and instantly wavered like a toppling tree. It was by the grace of her fingernails that hooked around the table's corners that she didn't waver to the floor. Everything doubled in her vison and a faint pounding electrocuted her skull. She tried desperately and pleadingly to catch her bearings by blinking away the doubled lines and when she did, Phineas' crystal stare was splintered with alarm.
"I'll be fine." (Y/n) assured him, but when she tried to walk out of the Great Hall, half-limping half-staggering, she knew it was a lie.
She would, most definitely, not be fine.
- - -
It was whispering; no louder than the scratch of a quill on parchment and no softer than a baby's heartbeat. A thin noise, feeble enough to be a grating murmur at the back of (Y/n)'s skull. It wasn't a problem at first; it was almost a soothing noise, like the flutter of a dove's wings or the sweep of eyelashes on a cheek, until its voice was clear. Terrible, wicked impulses it inspired with its voiceless speech that seduced the darkest desires of her mind. It taunted her as she crept up the stairs, seeing a lazing Mrs Norris (Filtch's cat) that flicked her speckled black-and-brown tail. It wanted her to thrust the cat down the stairs with a good, hard kick for all the times that the cat had led Filtch to her friends while they were making mischief. Only a well-timed spasm in her foot stopped (Y/n) from doing it and her muscles were seizing with an unnamed hate stirred by the whisper. The cat hissed defensively; its hair standing on end as the girl passed – she, herself, only realizing a moment later that her own lips were pulled over her teeth in a snarl as a low, menacing growl rumbled from her throat.
It was always warm in Lupin's classroom. The windows were open every time she went there, but it didn't alter the warmth that soaked into her muscles and made her breathe easily as if she could relax nowhere else but within its four walls. You couldn't hold a candle to it, especially when compared to the draughty, dark and despotic class of Snape's, which would be bitterly cold even on the warmest day in the hottest summer. (Y/n)'s desk was at the end of the class in the furthest row to the left, Amelia had insisted on it, and it took all of her concentration to slide semi-normally into her desk without acting like a trauma victim. If it was her focus or the relaxed ambiance of the room, she couldn't guess, but her ears began to ring with silence as the malicious whisper faded away.
Once Lupin trailed across the room with a weather-beaten volume in his hands, she knew she had a problem. A wheeze jolted from her lungs as his musk burned her nostrils like liquid fire. Pounding a disembodied pulse within her that stung her eyes with instant tears. The worst part was how good he smelt. A fragrance more succulent than baking chocolate-chip cookies, more intoxicating as the finest of wines and more seductive that the spiciest, most rousing of men's cologne. It was an understatement to say that it made her heart melt like butter over toast or made her knees go as weak as a fawn's – this must be what Phineas spoke of when he saw Amelia. Palms drenched with sweat and heart thrashing in your chest like a caged beast.
"Turn to page sixty-seven in your books." Lupin directed. The mere echo of his voice drove shudders down her spine as if she was the stringed instrument to his musician. The blood was hot and frothing in her veins as she begged for the malicious whisper to return, rather than have the sweetly-torturous depth of his voice dance in her eardrums. "Our lesson today will be focused on Leprechaun gold; as we read on the disastrous effects it can have on both wizarding and muggle economies. You'll also learn how to separate real gold from its magical fake, so pay close attention."
The battered volume had wrinkled, yellow pages and a leather cover that hung from its spine like old elephant skin, but Lupin cradled the book to his chest and turned to face the blackboard. There was a notable absence of chalk, but the professor only tapped his wand on its surface for letters in his script to scrawl themselves across the board. What they read, (Y/n) wasn't sure because she was distracted by the flowing motions of the tense and toned muscles of his back, rippling and shifting beneath the smooth, crisp fabric of his white collared shirt. They were so visible that it was alarmingly easy for her to imagine the sweep of her fingers tracing down each kink of his spine, vertebra by vertebra and inch by inch, and drawing the hard planes of his stomach onto her body. Her skin was hot as an open flame as she drew her thumb over her forehead, smudging the beads of sweat at her hairline.
A textbook thumped onto her desk. She glanced feverishly to the side, a barely contained whimper pressed between her teeth, and saw a smiling Amelia. The smile vanished from the girl's face.
"Hey." Amelia whispered. A hand lingered over her mouth as she spoke and, if not deeply scrutinized, it looked as if the honey-blond girl was about to sneeze. (Y/n) knew better – it was Amelia's way of talking during class without drawing the attention of nosy professors. The concern that clouded Amelia's tawny eyes would be harder to hide.
(Y/n)'s voice was weak as a wisp of wind, "Hi, Amy."
"You're not looking so hot." Amelia muttered, "It's not because of the – well, you know – moon tonight. Is it?"
There was probably something witty and pithy to say to that, but (Y/n)'s mind was the furthest thing from sarcastic. The sucker-punch scent of her professor still flamed her nostrils and it took every ounce of her will not to sink to the floor and surrender to the rapture that boiled her blood.
(Y/n) was about to answer when the professor's voice pierced her ears.
"Something interesting to say, Miss Bones and Miss Carrow?" Lupin asked doubtfully. The gentle arc of his auburn eyebrows was questioning and a touch amused, or maybe it was the slight, almost undetectable smirk that rose his lips for catching them in their act. "Perhaps you would like to enlighten me on the potentially devastating effects of Leprechaun gold on the Wizarding Economy?"
They were faulted for words.
Lupin's eyebrow rose further, "I am waiting for an answer. Carrow?"
A deer caught in car headlights would have a higher chance of survival than she had. Being forced to stare at Lupin's face while she was so shattered – there was no crueller fate. She was trying; the answer would build on her tongue until she was almost confident to answer, but then he would purse his lips or angle his neck so that it looked like molten gold cascading over his forehead, or he would fix her with his blue stare, a blue which reminded her of breath-taking twilight. She was gazing at her worst distraction, and he was gazing right back.
(Y/n) faltered, "Le-leprechaun gold..."
It was agonizing; both her compelled staring at Lupin and the dull pound to her temples. An ache of her heart that struck her until she had forgotten how to breathe – her mind, however, was throbbing as if an earthquake was tumbling through her brain and shattering her thoughts. The agony forced her to press her fingertips to her temples as the room started spinning, leaving her with only a desperate wish for a still, painless being – even if it meant being away from Lupin, the man for which her fingers ached and her lips trembled.
"Miss Carrow," Lupin softly prompted, the faint amusement was absent from his lips. The man looked about ready to come to her, sensing the severity of her state – but the thought itself made her recoil. "Do you need someone to take you to the Hospital Wing –?"
"No!"
Her interjection was loud and desperate and this stunned the auburn-haired man. The blood boiling in her limbs, scents scorching in her nostrils, tears burning in her eyes – nothing would force her to the Hospital Wing. Professor Snape would stop giving her the higher concentration immediately – she couldn't let that happen. She needed it. The fear for the full moon was stronger than her pride.
"Th-the leprechaun gold disappears." (Y/n) swallowed, "After s-some hours of its use, which makes it difficult to have a proper wealth-exchange. Those trading in the c-c-counterfeit gold are considered thieves since few ever intend on paying them back."
It was a moment before he could respond and when he did, he sounded weary.
"That's – correct." Lupin said with a sigh, "Miss Carrow, although this is the correct answer, I will be needing to see you after this class."
It wasn't what she wanted, or needed, but she recognised his words with a weak nod of her head. She wouldn't meet his eyes, though she could feel them prickling on her skin, and reached shakily for her ink pot as he continued to teach the lesson. Her hands were shaking so badly that she nearly spilled the ink all over her notes and her print writing looked like a wonky cursive.
- - -
Professor Lupin's tone was light and gentle, "Please come in, Miss Carrow."
Sonorous was the word she would use to describe his voice. The breath he used to speak them with were flurrying swells of warmth that brushed across her skin and burned a blush on her cheeks. Being soft and dazzling to her ears, the kindness in his words was what she liked most about it. When she wasn't sweating with pain, of course.
It had only worsened; the stomach-knotting, mind-numbing agony. The only difference was that it homed in on her ears and changed the fluctuating frequencies of sound so that she could hear everything in a ten-kilometre radius. It didn't stop this time as she staggered into Lupin's office, flailing against the windowpane and digging her fingernails into the brick until they stung. She closed her eyes to ward herself from the heightened hearing, but that only intensified it. There was a tick-tick-tick clacking of McGonagall's heels on the exterior courtyard as the old woman went to scold some Slytherins for ditching class – and even the muffled curse from McGonagall's muted lips echoed in her ears as if the woman had screamed it at the top of her lungs. (Y/n) could see the black-robed woman through the window – she was many flights higher than the old woman – and the piercing sound struck her eardrums like hammers. (Y/n) was whimpering, clutching her head and begging for this nightmare to go away. Please, (Y/n) pleaded. Please, please, please...
"(Y/n)?" Lupin's voice was no longer soft and gentle, but rigid with concern. A blurred version of his face passed in front of her– tears were hazing from her eyes – and he grasped her securely beneath her elbows, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "You have to tell me what's wrong. Tell me."
"Y-you wouldn't understand." Her lips trembled. Sounds were becoming shriller and louder in her ears, at such a high frequency that there were sharp screeches made from creatures she'd never heard before. Her head filled with pain until she was sure her head would crack into splinters. Fifth-years were complaining about Peeves in the outside corridor, Flitwick was whistling to himself a few floors away and Dumbledore was writing a letter with a scratchy quill. Too much, she whimpered, my head is going to explode! She could hear the sharp, ice-cracking surge of the wind and biting-fairies cackling in the Room of Requirement and Fang barking at the forest and screams and laughter and wails of fright and...
A heartbeat.
A steady thud. Something peaceful and beautiful, soothing and strong that she could focus on without the cacophony of the other sounds. It wasn't her heart – hers was thrashing in her chest – it was his. The hands he clenched around her elbows were still there, his fingers glowing white from strain, and they only seemed to loosen when her desperate, tear-flooded gaze looked to him. She placed her palm over his heart. With her tracing touch, his heart pounded faster. Slowly, she stepped into his chest and placed her ear against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and soothing her so that the tears dried on her cheeks and her hysteria faded away like a forgotten memory. It was a reflex for her to slide her arms around his waist and draw him closer to her until their bodies curled together. Lupin stiffened.
His arms hung limply by his sides for a moment. Warmth coursed through her veins as the presence of his arms wound around her as he held her closely, his aura beating across her skin like a heartbeat and allowing her to exhale a shuddering breath. There couldn't be a moment when (Y/n) was more at ease – nor could there be a moment when her heart didn't ache for him more. Lupin curled his thump beneath her chin and inclined her head so that they were looking at each other, and then it was all in slow motion as he leaned down, she was a few centimetres shorter than him, and placed his lips, feather-light, on hers.
It was fireworks. Where their skin touched, it burned like connecting livewires. His lips tasted electric as they grazed across her mouth – his breath ghosting over her cheeks. He took a short, soft breath and then his lips traced down her jawline and nuzzled a spot at the hollow of her throat, where she gasped at the tenderness of his motions. A dizziness clouded in her head as his hands, soft and gentle, clenched around her waist that trembled with an ache for her skin. Her arms draped across his crisp white shirt and her fingernails dug into his lean, muscled back – pulling him close. She caught his mouth again and he responded instantly. With a simple, delicate motion, he tilted her head back and slid his tongue into her mouth. The flowing motion of his mouth as he caressed her lips made her feel dizzy and her heart felt so full of love that it swelled. He smothered their mouths together but she caught his lip with her teeth, gently biting his bottom lip. Remus moaned.
There was a conflict in Remus as he lifted her in his arms, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist, as he walked her backwards to his cluttered desk. A clash between fiery-hot, piping desire that burned his blood and singed his fingertips each time he stroked her skin, and the blossoming tenderness within him that wanted to cradle her to his chest and knot their fingers together, tracing every curve and crevice to her body until he had it memorized. The smouldering desire won out as he shoved everything from his desk with inhuman strength; crashes of his ornaments as they shattered on the floor, books thumping, papers hissing – but he only cared about the girl that he held in his arms. The one that was staring, eyes half-lidded with a craving for his touch, at the massacre of his things cluttered around the floor. The one that was trembling with thirst for him. He grazed his lips across the length of her throat with gentle, velvety strokes that made her shudder and mewl his name. A wildness consumed him as he responded to the sound, taking the skin of her neck between his teeth and nipping it gently. She gasped and exposed her throat, allowing him to place soft love-bites on her throat as her fingernails danced over the bare skin of his neck, coiling her fingers in his auburn hair.
Goosebumps roared over her skin as his fingers explored the length of her legs, tracing across the pale skin of her thighs. The top button on his shirt came away easily from her fingers, her knuckles grazing across his flat, muscular chest as they curved into each other as if their shapes were meant to fit together...
There was a bang at the door. A sharp, impatient sound that forced them to jolt apart. They wore looks of horror and distress as they both watched the door vibrate from the harsh knocking.
"What are we going to do?" (Y/n) whispered with eyes rounded by terror. A flush slowly burned across her face as panic, clear as crystal, set in to his eyes – but there was still the undertone of deliberation sparkling in his eyes like gears and cogs meshing together in his mind.
"The desk." Remus thought feverishly, "Hide under the desk."
It felt like a dishonest and underhanded thing to do and it made her angry to think she was risking her dignity, as if she was a dirty secret that Lupin had to sweep under a rug, but she crawled under his desk just in time to see him flourish his wand. It must have been a powerful spell because the broken objects from his desk was repaired almost instantaneously and resumed their previous position on his desktop. She stifled her breath with a hand over her mouth as she heard him open the door – probably looking dishevelled and flustered, which admittedly made her smirk a little – and even from where she was crouched beneath his wooden desk, the snap-and-crunch of billowing robes caught in her ears. Snape.
"Am I disrupting something?" Snape remarked tartly. (Y/n) couldn't see him, of course, but she could imagine his coal-black eyes scouting around the room dubiously before they fell on Remus again. The blush rose in her cheeks as she heard the pregnant silence of Remus' hesitation. She couldn't believe that she was in this situation – how in Merlin's name did this happen?
Lupin replied, "Nothing too important."
It was silly, but she felt a sting. Glaring at him fatally through the wooden desk.
"Of course, grading seventh-year essays are important." Lupin added hastily, apparently feeling her irritation. The insane sensitivity to her hearing was starting to come back with a riling buzz in her ears, at least she could hear the hollow, liquid sound of a vial being shaken – it was obviously liquid in a tin flask.
"I trust you won't lose it – this time." Snape remarked drily.
Remus breathed a sigh, "Thank you, Severus."
"I won't do it again." Snape said curtly, "And make sure you're far away from the castle tonight. We don't need any of your foolish mistakes hurting someone."
Her cheeks burned. Her thoughts raced. Did Remus think of her like that now? A foolish mistake?
Remus sighed, "I will."
Severus huffed and walked away with a dramatic turn that billowed his robes. Lupin breathed deeply and slackened himself against the door like a wilted flower deprived of sunlight. She couldn't hide the embarrassment that flushed her cheeks as she crawled out from under the narrow desk. She took a moment to wobble to her feet and a second to straighten her clothes before she turned to sweep out of the classroom, but Remus caught her before she could escape.
"(Y/n)?" Lupin's voice was soft, "Why are you upset?"
Tears were burning in the back of her eyelids but she blinked them away. All but a single tear that cascaded down the hollow of her cheek. Remus wiped it away with his thump, a frown crinkled on his lips.
"I'm complicating." (Y/n) spluttered helplessly.
"What?' Remus asked.
"I'm complicating, Remus." (Y/n) said with her lips crinkled in sorrow, "I – I was normal once, but I'm different now. I've changed. I don't want you to change – because that's exactly what that freaky little part inside of me will do. I'll take you and change you until you don't even recognise yourself. I'll hurt you, Remus." Her lips trembled, "I never want to hurt you."
Remus was taken aback. She took this chance to turn and bolted out of the classroom, ignoring the agonized voice of Lupin calling after her. The corridors flashed by as she darted through them, sometimes yelled at by the dozing portraits, and she didn't know where her feet were taking her until she streaked past the library and she realised. Her heartrate was quickening as she sprinted towards Flitwick's class – Phineas should still be there – while hot, dizzying hysteria built in her chest. Static pounded against her eardrums and blood boiled in her veins. No tears fell from her eyes, yet her vision hazed and doubled – the ache in her head was back, more violent and painful than ever. It felt like someone was slamming a hammer into her temples and only hit harder and harder as time wore on. The corridor was bustling with leaving students as she ducked behind a wall, breathing sharp and shallow inhalations that pierced her lungs like daggers.
"Carrow?" A voice asked tentatively.
She almost sobbed with joy to hear Phineas' voice. The blurred lines to her vision stopped her from seeing him clearly, though she could faintly recognize a familiar hazy blot.
"Phineas." She cried in pain, "The Common Room."
The flaxen-haired boy understood. It was more with a disturbed urgency than a required gentleness that he slipped her arm over his shoulder and started to tow her down the corridor, but the effort was too much as darkness overcame her vision and she teetered on her feet. Phineas was screaming for help as she sank to the floor with a sickening crack to her head, the breath wheezing out of her as the light died.
- - -
A little more action in this part - and more is yet to come!
Maybe hit this part with a vote or a comment if you liked it? If you feel like talking, then why don't you comment on who your favourite Hogwarts Professor is? Mine is either Snape or Lupin, but probably Snape.
- ExcentricWriterGirl