Mischief Managed Y2 Part 2: The Truth of the Tournament

Chapter Five: Wallowing Worry and Withering Anger

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"REMUS! REEEEEMUS!"

Sleeping as close as possible to the pile of the ashen remains of the small smouldering fire that had been made with many tears and swears when Remus Lupin realized he couldn't find his way home after all, the small boy stirred. He tried to sit up but found he couldn't move and felt far too disoriented to try to do so again. For a few confusing seconds Remus was sure he had transformed last night based on how sore and stiff he was. Then he realized he couldn't move, not because he was injured but because he was mostly enclosed in the clumsy lopsided igloo-like structure he had made of snow last night. 

With that realization came a stab of fear since one usually did not spend the night outdoors in a mere winter cloak and not suffer some form of hypothermia. Remus reflexively ran himself through the mental and physical checks that he completed every post-transformation morning. He could wiggle his toes which was a good sign, though Remus was pretty sure the fists shoved deep in his pockets were frozen shut.

"REMUS, YOU ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW, YOUNG MAN, OR SO HELP ME!"

If there was one noise that would make Remus jump to attention, frozen solid or not, it was his father's anger. The snow structure crumbled around him as the still-dazed boy burst free from the confines of the snow that had it been colder may have very well become his coffin.

"h-here, d-dad...o-over h-here," the frozen boy chattered. Remus was worried his scratchy voice that had come from breathing in the cold air for six hours wouldn't be loud enough to be heard by the older Lupin who was bellowing with as much rage in his voice as Remus had ever heard. Normally the sound would have continued to make Remus shake, not from the cold he was currently shaking from, but from fear of what might come next. But the disappointment he felt in his father, the breathtaking fear he felt last night, and the frozen numbness of spending a night outside during winter mushed together to form a rather rare emotion that Remus hardly ever felt towards his father, fury.

His father should have told him the cabin was enchanted, or better yet not have gotten drunk in the first place!

"REMUS, WHERE ARE YOU?"

"O-over here!" he shouted a bit louder, clearing his throat this time before trying to talk. Remus' dad must have heard him this time because soon the rushed footsteps of a father hurrying to reach his child became clear.

"REMUS?"

"O-over here."

Crunch. Crunch.

As the footsteps grew closer and he and his father played a much more serious version of Marco Polo in the snow-covered woods, Remus knew he only had a few seconds to decide what to say. He doubted holding up his red fingers curled in from the cold, the tips of which were turning an ugly dark purple-blue colour would be enough to express how very outraged Remus was currently finding himself to be at his father. Did he dare express his anger?

The werewolf had summoned enough sense to hide the treasure chest last night, but an ornery rather surprising side of him partly did not want to give any money to his father. Besides, what if the drunkard spent it on alcohol?

But Remus knew he couldn't actually refuse to spend the money on his father. However, he figured that it would be best for him to take it back to Hogwarts with him and parcel it out to the older Lupin week by week. He'd have to come up with some way he was making the money, but hopefully, it would be something rare enough that would make his father feel it was of the utmost importance to use the galleons on groceries.