Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Lunaticus Book Two: Moonstruck	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Remus Views: 5775 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I gain nothing from this but a way to pass the time.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: Happy Christmas/Hanukkah/Saturnalia/Etc! Like I said in the author's notes at the beginning of this fic there would be a POV switch eventually, and here we are. I tried not to make it too jarring, but it didn't make much sense to keep it in Harry's POV for the next bits. You'll see what I mean.
Chapter 7 – Blocked

“What's wrong with him, Hermione?” Ron asked, horror-struck as he stared down at Harry, his eyes wide as he watched his best friend attempt to spoon himself around a pillow, his clothes soaked with sweat. He was shivering violently, but when Hermione reached out to touch damp hair, he cringed away from the contact with a cry as though he'd been burned.

“I think Remus is blocking their bond,” Hermione replied, frowning. “I didn't do a lot of research on it, because I never thought Remus would ever do this to Harry...”

“Remus?” Harry's eyes snapped open, and he sat up sharply. Hermione took a nervous step back at the haggard, desperate look in Harry's eyes, but more unsettling still was the lack of recognition in his gaze—it was almost as though Harry didn't know who they were anymore. “Where...where is he? Please, where's Remus?”

“We'll find him Harry, don't worry,” Hermione said in a soothing tone, while she reached out to stroke his hair again, but the words did not seem to register with him. He continued to stare unseeingly at Hermione, light tremors coursing through him as he settled back onto the bed, turning on his side and reaching for the pillow again.

“Remus...” Harry whimpered, and Ron frowned, feeling extremely uncomfortable by the helplessness he heard in his friend's voice. Not even after everything they'd lost in the war did he recall ever seeing Harry look so lost, so damaged. Ron felt a flare of anger towards Remus, but he swallowed it as best he could, not wanting to alarm Harry any more, and turned his attention to his fiancée.

“C'mon Hermione,” he grunted while he reached for her hand, “let's talk downstairs.” Hermione hesitated, her gaze fixed on Harry's unnaturally still form. Had it not been for the steady rise and fall of his chest, he looked almost like a corpse. At last, Hermione stood and reluctantly followed Ron out of the room.

“So Remus is blocking this bond,” Ron prompted as they reached the ground floor, “what does that mean, exactly?” He sat down at the dining room table where a number of books and stacks of parchment had been spread out, all research material from Harry's recent adventure in the woods, and looking at it now Ron felt another surge of anger. So strong in fact that he felt his vision momentarily blur, and his stomach twisted, as though he might be sick. Harry had done everything in his power, poured his mind, body, and soul into fixing things with Remus, and Remus had repaid him by completely and utterly destroying his mental state. Privately, Ron hoped that Remus stayed lost, because the next time he saw him he was going to kill him.

“The short version is Harry will die if we don't find Remus soon and talk some sense into him.” Hermione grimaced and sat across from Ron, and dug out the notes that she'd brought with her—information on the blocked bonds she'd planned to give to Harry. Ron mirrored her grimace; the last thing he wanted was to bring Remus within a hundred yards of Harry—he'd done enough damage, as far as Ron was concerned.

“What's the long version?” Ron asked after a moment's pause, and Hermione's frown deepened.

“Harry will waste away to nothing,” Hermione replied, her voice shaking a little as she spoke, “his mind—or rather, his soul is pining for Remus, and it's sort of like how Remus was when the claim first happened, except instead of intensely seeking Remus out, Harry's body is basically shutting down. I'll be honestly shocked if we manage to get any food into him, most of the humans that suffer a blocked bond die within a couple weeks because no one can get them to eat.”

“But...why would Remus do this to Harry?” Ron asked, the horror he'd felt from earlier returning to his voice. He felt very ill at the thought that Harry might be actually dying. After cheating death so many times, was he fated to waste away, die a slow, agonizing death instead of a quick one at the end of a wand, like they'd always assumed he would?

“I doubt he knows the extent of what blocking the bond will do to him,” Hermione replied, though her tone of voice expressed that she was as uncertain about that as he was. It seemed as though Remus wasn't above anything anymore. “He might also think that maybe Harry is above succumbing to it, since he can throw off the Imperius Curse. I'm going to see if I can get a stasis charm to work on him, and if not I'll try to get my hands on a muggle IV and feeding tube...”

“A what now?”

“Intravenous, Ronald,” Hermione said crossly. “It's...sort of a muggle potion that keeps unconscious people nourished and hydrated. I'd take him to St Mungo's, but I doubt Harry would want the media attention that'd draw...even if we were able to get him there.” Hermione spoke in an exasperated, distracted tone while she riffled through her research, “I think the most pressing thing is finding Remus...”

“After what he did?” Ron sputtered, “Hermione, he's done enough damage, don't you think? The last person that should be near Harry is that man.”

“I know Ron,” she looked up as her voice broke, and he was startled to see that her eyes were brimming with tears. Quickly, he circled the table and she abandoned her work in favour of throwing herself into his arms. Ron held her while she cried, her tears dampening his shoulder, and when she at last pulled back he offered her a handkerchief, and she blew her nose wetly, her eyes still very shiny. “I hate it. If I c-could, I'd keep Remus as far from Harry as possible. But for starters, I won't do that again when Harry can't even think for himself, and secondly Remus is literally the only person that can even hope to snap Harry out of this. Right now, we need him.”

“Are you that sure that we absolutely need Remus?” Ron asked cautiously as he sat at the head of the table next to where Hermione sat, and took her hand. She clutched onto him tightly, her expression still lost and miserable.

“All—all the texts say that only the human's mate can bring him back to life, so to speak,” she replied, her voice still clouded with anguish. “I want to find a way to break this bond, it's probably healthier at this point for Harry and Remus to go their separate ways,” Hermione's voice broke, and it was several long moments before she regained her composure enough to speak. “I wish it hadn't happened this way but...”

“One step at a time Hermione,” Ron said with a steady calm that he didn't feel. He squeezed her hand gently, and she returned it weakly.

Hermione carefully slipped her hand from Ron's and she took a slow breath, then raked her fingers through her hair. She looked a little calmer, but Ron could practically feel her distress coming off her in waves.

“I wanna try that stasis spell first,” she said, her usual matter-of-fact tone returning to her, though her voice still shook a little. “It will at least keep him from wasting away to practically nothing.”

“Hermione, are you sure you're up to it? I mean...” Ron trailed off when he saw the determined look in her eyes. He knew that expression well, and there would be no shifting her once she'd made up her mind.

“I'm fine Ron, I just...I can't just sit here, you know?”

“I know,” Ron replied at once, and stood back up. “C'mon then, let's give it a try.”

Back upstairs, Hermione stood at the foot of Harry's bed, wand out, and hands trembling as she looked on to their friend. Harry's eyes were closed and he was curled in a fœtal position on top of the duvet, but he looked no more alive than he had earlier. Once more, save for the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest—he looked like a corpse.

“Ready, Hermione?” Ron asked, and at once she nodded her head, though she did not look exactly ready.

Hermione raised her wand, but her hand was too badly shaking, and her arm dropped again. She took several slow breaths and tried again, and though she still looked positively distraught at Harry's state, she at least looked marginally calmer. She muttered something under her breath, and a shimmering, spring green light poured from the tip of her wand and encased Harry's form.

Immediately Harry began to whimper as though she was causing him great pain, but other than the vocalization he was perfectly still—eerily still. Ron curled his hands into fists again as he remembered with a flash of anger just who had done this to his best friend.

The spell sunk in to Harry's flesh, leaving the faintest of glimmers upon his skin, as though someone had rubbed a salve filled with glitter all over him.

“Done,” Hermione said somewhat breathlessly, and they watched Harry squirm uncomfortably upon the bedspread, more life than he'd shown in over an hour. Ron and Hermione stepped back, but Harry continued to whine and fidget, as though he was in some sort of pain, then at last settled down again, but continued to shiver almost violently. “We can monitor him from downstairs,” Hermione whispered while she reached for Ron's hand and gave it a gentle tug, “come on.”

Casting Harry one last miserable glance, Ron turned and followed Hermione downstairs.

“So what do we do now?” Ron prompted the moment they returned to the table, and Hermione dug out her research again. “Besides pray that he doesn't die, I mean.” Hermione glared at him following his comment, but didn't answer.

“Next thing I think is to find Greyback. I can't find anything on this Conversio thing, and if that letter is any indication, Greyback probably will know more about it, or what we can do to help him...I hope.”

“Except that this is Greyback, Hermione,” Ron said, a forceful edge to his voice, “I'd trust him about as far as Kreacher could throw him. How do we know that this Conversio thing is real, and not some elaborate scheme to turn Harry?”

“Given Remus's reaction to Harry's dreams and the physical...er...stuff,” Ron felt his ears grow hot just as Hermione flushed a deep red—that was not an image he wanted to picture. “I think it's safe to assume that it's real. I just wish I knew what it means,” she let out a frustrated groan, “I don't understand why Remus would go to such lengths to hurt Harry, this isn't like him at all...”

“Lately, it seems very like him,” Ron replied sourly, “he's...I hardly recognize him anymore. This bond-thing has fucked both of them up so badly.”

“If we can find a way to break it, hopefully they'll both be able to at least start to recover,” Hermione said softly, “but...I still think that finding Greyback should be the first step. I just have no idea how we would go about doing that. They probably have all sorts of warding to keep their location from being detected and—”

“—Actually,” Ron cut in, “I think I might have an idea.”

~*~

“I know we went through Remus's stuff to find that letter,” Hermione began, shifting uncomfortably as they stepped into the recently renovated study Harry had set up down the hall, “but somehow this feels more like an invasion of privacy than that did...”

“Your logic does not resemble our earth logic,” Ron commented, and her mouth twitched into something close to a smile. “Look, Harry had maps annotated with Greyback, noting all the packs nearby. He didn't keep it at the office—I know that because I heard Caldwell bitching that she couldn't find it when she searched Harry's desk when he was elsewhere—so the next place he'd probably keep it is here.” He finished his explanation, and to his surprise, Hermione was smiling at him. A warm, approving smile that he didn't quite understand. “What? Did I say something funny?”

“Oh, no Ron I just...” she broke off and a sound escaped her that seemed somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “I'm just proud of you. You've come a long way since our abandoned formal education.”

“Is that your way of saying that I'm not as thick as I used to be?” He asked, and she smiled again, choosing not to answer as she turned to one of the filing cabinets in the room and reluctantly the pair began to search.

For two hours they sifted through Harry's unnervingly meticulous and paranoid files.

Ron couldn't remember Harry ever being this organized back in school, and every single case file he'd worked on were copied at least twice, written so neatly that it almost looked like newsprint, and were so highly detailed that it read like a completely different person than the Harry Potter Ron thought he knew.

Who are you? Ron wondered, unnerved, as he stared down at the file in his hand. This didn't seem like Harry at all.

“There's nothing here,” Ron announced, stuffing away the latest file before he threw himself into Harry's leather desk chair. “Maybe he burned them or something.”

“Hold on,” Hermione said as she closed the filing cabinet she stood at, “there's one more thing I want to try.” She drew her wand and flicked it once, “Incantatem Revelio!”

Immediately, Harry's desk began to glow, and one side of it, which seemed to be an overlarge desk leg a moment before, glimmered a faint gold and a drawer appeared. Hermione rushed forward and reached out her hand to open it, but stopped short with a faint grimace.

“What is it Hermione? Just open it,” Ron said, stepping up next to her, and she frowned at him.

“I can't—literally. You try.”

Ron eyed her quizzically, then reached forward to open the drawer. He stared as his hand came into contact with something that felt like some sort of strange, almost pliable bubble that was stopping him from physically touching the drawer.

“Warded,” he said, and Hermione nodded. “Guess that means we found them.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I'll try and break these, can you go check up on Harry?”

“'Course,” Ron forced a smile and reached out for her hand. “Give us a shout if you need help, yeah?”

Hermione laced her fingers with his and squeezed his hand gently, then turned to face the warded drawer while Ron reluctantly slipped from the room and headed back to check on Harry.

Ron sat by Harry's bed, making sure that he didn't stop breathing or something. It still bothered him how vulnerable he looked, his breath was coming on in short, wheezing gasps; his body was soaked with cold sweat no matter how many drying spells Ron cast on him; Harry's skin was as white as bone, and he cringed away from Ron every time he tried to feel if he was sporting a fever.

“God Harry...everything seems to happen to you, doesn't it?” Ron muttered under his breath while he cradled his head in his hands and watched his friend's fitful sleep.

As Ron watched him, he had the distinct impression that something was wrong, though at first he couldn't work out what it was. This whole thing was wrong, but still in the pit of his stomach there was an unsettling feeling that refused to go away, and Ron realized with a start that the stasis spell had worn off.

“That's impossible...” Ron hissed, staring wide-eyed at his friend. He knew the stasis spells well; they were something most Aurors were taught early on, in case there was a badly wounded victim at the crime scene, and they needed to keep them stable until the Mediwizards arrived. The fact that Harry had thrown it off, or it wore off—Ron wasn't certain—was deeply unsettling.

Ron quickly cast the spell again, and Harry whimpered again, but otherwise did not react. The faint glimmer of the spell clung to his skin, but Ron could already see that it would not last.

Less than an hour later there was a soft tapping upon the door, and Ron looked up to see Hermione there, cradling a stack of parchment in her arms, as well as a leather-bound notebook. Ron got up and stepped out into the hall while she asked, “how has he been?”

“He's not asleep or unconscious, he'd just...I dunno, it's like his mind's run away. I hate to say it, but it looks like you were right...I don't think he'll get better until we find him.” Ron grimaced; he hated the idea of bringing Remus back to Harry in any capacity, but what choice did they have, really?

“We do have a slightly larger problem than just finding Remus,” Ron continued with a frown. Hermione raised her eyebrows in an expression that clearly prompted Ron to continue, and he pressed in at once. “The Stasis Charms aren't holding.”

“What? But...but that's impossible!” She sputtered, nearly dropping everything that he had cradled in her arms. “Those charms are meant to hold for days, weeks.”

“I've re-cast it four times while I've been sitting here with Harry,” Ron replied with a frown, and he felt his anger flare again. “I guess it has something to do with the blocked bond, I don't know.”

“This would all be so much easier if I could just hate Remus,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she sniffled softly. “But...I'm sure he's doing this with good intentions, like trying to free Harry of the bond or something, even though I'm sure he knows that that's impossible.” Ron wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gently steered her towards the staircase.

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions, you told me that once,” Ron said gently, and Hermione laughed at his words, though there was a bitter edge to the sound.

“Of all the muggle phrases I teach you, that's the one you remember.” Ron chuckled and wrapped his arm more securely around her while they walked, and he summoned Harry's firewhisky and two glasses while Hermione spread out what she'd found on the coffee table. Ron pressed a glass with a measure of the drink into her hand, and she sipped it while Ron prompted her.

“So what did you find? The maps?”

“Yeah,” she said and pointed to them. On over half a dozen sheets of parchment were maps of Britian, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, all with small inked Xs dotted all over them, with such tiny, cramped handwriting that for a moment Ron thought that it was Hermione's handwriting—it looked nothing like Harry's. “And a journal. Looks like Harry was writing down all the dreams he's had. There's not much in it though, I think he's only started keeping it the last couple of weeks.”

Something in Hermione's tone told Ron there was likely more to this than just dreams. He gingerly picked up the journal, as though it might bite him, and he flipped it open.

17^th April

Another dream last night.

It was the same as always, I'm in a forest, I'm with Moony, we're both wolves, and it's...I can't explain it. The happiest I've ever been is when I'm sleeping, because I can be with him again, and he's with me, and not gone. At the same time, I hate it. Every time I wake up, especially since he left, I feel drained when I wake up. Not like, tired drained, but like...weakened, like something's going wonky with my magic. I know it's not, and I know it's fine because when I try basic spells they're all normal, but it takes me a good hour to feel strong enough to get out of bed.

I miss Remus.

The crossed-out phrase was partially obscured by a dried tear that had warped the ink. Ron flipped to the next page.

18^th April

The dream was the same, but different last night.

I was in the forest with Moony, but it wasn't happy like they usually are. Greyback was there, and he was fighting Moony.

Moony looked different too, he was bigger than I remember—stronger. I almost didn't recognize him.

19^th April

I was in the forest with Moony again. We were playing, and I was running ahead, and then I was tackled to the ground, pinned by a dominant wolf, but when I turned round, it wasn't Moony that held me down, but a wolf I didn't recognize. I don't know what it means, and I woke up with my skin feeling like it might crawl right off my bones. I don't like this. I don't give a flying fuck what anyone says, I want him back, I need him back.

Ron flipped through the pages, the dream sequences repeating and rearranging themselves, and pages upon pages of Harry's laments at his loss of his partner. It pulled at Ron's heartstrings, and he had a very strong desire to hit something—preferably Remus. He stopped at the present day, 12^th June, and felt slightly uneasy at the sight of no writing filling the blank space. It reminded Ron of how utterly incapacitated Harry was, and again he felt a flare of anger at the older man—the werewolf that had done this to Harry.

He snapped the book shut and forced himself to put it down, and refocused his attention on Hermione.

“What do we do now?” He asked, his voice escaping him much more softly than he had intended.

“Easy,” she said, and Ron stared at her in surprise. Easy wasn't the word he'd particularly use in this situation, and he was amazed at how confident she looked at her own sentiment. “Remus took off to Greyback's pack, that much we know. So to find Remus we need to find Greyback, just like Harry did.” Hermione picked up one of the maps that showed an illustration of the Black Forest, with a small annotation that read, Greyback. “The problem we'll have is finding it, then not getting ripped apart by Greyback himself.”

“What d'you mean finding it? It's right there,” Ron pointed to forest on the map, and Hermione rolled her eyes exasperatedly.

“Werewolves are notoriously mistrustful of humans, Ron. There will be spells—enchantments to keep us from finding the pack, and then there will likely be sentries keeping an eye out for intruders. Even if we do find them, we'll need a damn good reason to keep them from killing us.”

“And how are we supposed to do that? When it comes to humans generally werewolves are the curse or bite first, ask questions later type.”

“I don't know,” Hermione looking towards the front hall, and the stairway. No sound came from the above levels, and Ron felt an agonizing shadow of helplessness close over his heart. They needed to help Harry, and to do that they needed Remus. But how were they ever going to find him?

~*~

Ron sat at Harry's bedside, his stomach churning with anger and disgust. It had been two weeks and in that time they had been utterly incapable of getting Harry to eat or drink anything. Even with the stasis spells in place(and re-cast as needed), his body refused to absorb any nutrients, and they'd just barely managed to keep him hydrated enough so that he didn't dry up like some sort of husk. His cheeks were hollowed and his skin was waxy; his eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets slightly as he stared ahead unseeingly; his lips were chapped and peeling, and even through the loose T-shirt he wore, Ron could easily count every rib and vertebra. Harry was curled up in a foetal position, his breathing was shallow, and seemed completely unaware that Ron was even there.

The sight of it pained Ron deeply. Harry had always been strong—brave to the point of stupidity. Now, all because of Remus, Harry was probably going to die. Ron curled his hands into fists on his knees and he gritted his teeth while he tried to stifle his boiling anger.

“Ron!” Hermione's stage whisper snapped him out of his daze and he looked up to see her at the door dressed in her travelling cloak and holding a rolled up scroll of parchment in one hand, the ring Remus had given Harry in the other. It was a testament to how far gone Harry seemed to be when he did not react at all to its removal. Ron stood up and stepped into the hall, his mouth pulled into a deep frown.

“Hermione, I don't like this plan. How do you know they won't just kill you on sight?” He crossed his arms and leant against the wall, as she rolled her eyes—it hadn't been the first time they'd had this discussion.

“Ron, we've been over this. The werewolves are far from what we'd consider an equal society. They won't see a muggleborn witch on her own as a threat in the same way as they'd see a pureblood wizard. If you came with me, it'd be a miracle if they didn't kill you outright, and I don't want that to happen.” Her eyes shone a little and her voice caught slightly at the end of her statement. He knew that he had lost, and come hell or high water, she was determined to go alone. With a soft sigh, he leant in and kissed her once.

“Be careful.”

~*~

Ron spent the next couple of hours alternating between watching Harry and trying to read up on the bond in question. Hermione's notes were painfully boring, but detailed almost nothing on how to snap Harry out of it, in the event that they were unable to locate Remus. Kreacher wandered in on occasion to stare down at Harry, his lost, troubled look enough to tell Ron that he, too, had no idea how to help him.

Afternoon faded into evening, and the thin crescent of the waning moon cast almost no light into the bedroom. The passage of time was punctuated by Kreacher bringing Ron a stack of sandwiches and a flagon of butterbeer, which he ate his way through while he kept a close eye on Harry, who whimpered softly in protest to the smell of food. Besides the soft vocalization, he didn't move. The sight of it turned Ron's stomach, and for a brief moment, he felt another surge of hatred towards the man who did this to his best friend.

Remus had done this to Harry.

Remus had broken one of the strongest people Ron knew without lifting a finger. His hand clenched tightly at his robes and he gritted his teeth as he struggled to stay calm.

“Remus...”

The pitiful whine snapped Ron from his angry musings, and he refocused his attention on Harry. A thin sheen of sweat coated his flesh, dripped from the bridge of his nose and made his thin T-shirt stick to his chest. Ron felt bile rise in his throat as he watched the garment cling to Harry's unnervingly skeletal body. His breathing was shallow, and Ron could see that even in sleep(at least, it seemed like Harry was sleeping), he was highly distressed by Remus's absence.

Ron conjured a dry towel and reached forward to gently mop up some of the sweat that coated him. The moment he got close however, Harry let out a cry like a wounded animal and cringed away, tears mixing with the sweat that soaked him. Ron backed off at once, afraid of making Harry's state of mind worse, and slumped in the chair, feeling utterly useless. He cast a quick glance to the bedroom door and the empty hall that lay beyond it. Grimmauld Place was silent.

“Master Harry is dying,” The sudden, croaky voice made Ron nearly jump out of his skin, and he whirled around to face Kreacher.

“Merlin's pants, Kreacher! Don't do that!” Ron gripped the front of his robes as he gasped for breath, his heart beating wildly as he tried to calm down.

“Apologies, Master Ronald,” he bowed low, and spoke again when he straightened up. “Master Harry misses his werewolf. He is pining.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Ron stared at the still form on the bed, at a loss for what to do.

~*~

Six days passed, and Ron felt more and more like a useless lump the longer he stayed in Grimmauld Place. He hadn't heard from Hermione, though he wasn't certain whether this was a good thing or not. Harry had not moved from his bed, his lips cracked and peeling, his skin had taken on a greyish tinge, and his eyes seemed to have sunk into his skull. Harry had never been a big bloke to begin with, but now he seemed to have moved past just a vague description of skeletal or emaciated, and now in many ways literally looked like a skeleton.

From Harry's work with the Aurors and regular oversized meals by way of Kreacher and his mother, Harry had stopped looking half-starved, and looked like a man his age should. He had muscle tone, he was filled out, and his mother had stopped telling him to tell Harry to eat more when he came by.

“Come on Harry,” Ron murmured to the shadow that had once been Harry Potter, “snap out of it. You can't die on me, not like this. You're my best mate, I need you around to keep me from messing things up with Hermione.” He laughed weakly, and the sound was pained and sounded incredibly false.

Harry was curled on his side, holding tightly to a pillow, his breathing shallow, and entirely unresponsive to Ron's words. The sight pained Ron, and watching Harry do this to himself made him feel so utterly helpless. He turned to look outside; rain fell heavily past the window, painting its pane with water as thunder rumbled ominously overhead.

“Come on Hermione,” he murmured softly to himself.

As though she'd heard his call, Ron heard the front door bang open, and her shrill cries floated up to him from the main level. “Ron? Are you here?”

Harry's eyes snapped open.

Ron had opened his mouth to reply, but he was caught between the shock of Harry's first proper physical response in weeks and the sound of someone thundering up the stairs. The footfalls were far too heavy for them to belong to Hermione, and Ron got up quickly and hurried out the door, snapping it shut behind him. As he suspected, he suddenly found himself face-to-face with a rather distressed-looking Remus Lupin.

A sharp crack sounded though the hall, and Hermione let out a little scream. Ron's fist came into contact with Remus's cheek and caused the older man's head to snap to the side sharply, and he stumbled back several paces in his shock. Ron's knuckles ached from the move, but he was too furious to pay it much mind.

“You bastard,” Ron growled, “you absolute bastard.” He stared down the werewolf with narrowed eyes, but Remus did not raise a hand or open his mouth to defend himself.

“Ron, don't!” Hermione cried, standing by the stairs with her hands over her mouth. Remus's expression was blank, and his cheek where Ron had hit him was an angry red.

“You claimed to care so much for Harry,” he continued, his voice trembling with anger, “and yet you do this to him? I've had to watch my best friend since we were eleven waste away to practically nothing in front of my very eyes and it's all your fault.” Ron was breathing deeply as he struggled to keep his anger in check as he ranted at the man. “If you had just sacked up and helped Harry instead of taking off with your tail between your legs he wouldn't be practically dead right now.”

Remus didn't answer, but instead wore a closed-off mask, hiding whatever emotions he might have felt in the moment.

“I know,” he said at last, his tone of voice almost deadened, as though he was as hollow as Harry was at the moment, “there is no excusing what I have done.” There was tremor in his that Ron couldn't identify as anger or sorrow as he pressed on. “I thought Harry would be strong enough to see this through, but—”

“You thought wrong,” Ron snapped, not caring that he'd interrupted him. He stepped aside, his limbs trembling in an effort to reign in his anger. In spite of his better judgment Ron opened the door, and Remus did a double-take and what he saw on the bed. Ron did not take his eyes off the werewolf, who looked horrified at what he was seeing.

“Help him.”
- 6
- 7
- 8
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Lunaticus Book Two: Moonstruck