Howling. Whining. Scents - animals, magic, mould. He had to get out. Hunt. Pack. Pack. The big one tried to stop him. The black one tackled him. But he had to get out. He was so hungry. So hungry...
“Remus?! Remus?? Wake up!”
His eyes snapped open as Sirius shook him roughly by the shoulders.
“Wha??”
“Are you ok?”
He was lying on his back, on the dusty shack floor. He was bleeding, but he didn’t know where from. Sirius was bleeding too. Remus tried to sit up, and winced as his head rattled and his back creaked.
“What happened?” He gasped, throat raw from howling - or screaming.
“Here,” Sirius helped him up, and over to the bed. He pulled out a goblet - Remus didn’t know where he’d got it - and whispered, “ Auguamenti .” Sirius’s hands were shaking as water poured from his wand, and he handed it to Remus, who drank greedily, spilling it down his front. He knew something was wrong; he could smell the blood and the fear and the sunrise, but it was taking longer than usual for his human thoughts to come back to him; like waking up still drunk with a hangover to boot.
“What happened?” he asked again, frowning, “Are you hurt?”
“It’s fine,” Sirius shook his head. He looked very pale - not his usual aristocratic alabaster, but sickly, worried, yellowish with sweat. “You just nipped me a few times - you kept trying to get out.”
“Did I--?!” Remus grabbed him, suddenly, pulling his shirt. Sirius pushed him down, gently, reaching for blankets to cover him with. He shook his head,
“No, we kept you here. You never left, I promise you.”
“Where are the others?”
“They had to go - Madam Pomfrey’ll be here soon. When you turned back it was different - harder than normal, I think. You wouldn’t wake up properly, so James left me the cloak. I didn’t want to leave you here.”
Remus lay back, his mind racing. He tried to remember, but it was all scrambled up. He only knew one thing for sure.
“Something really bad happened.” He whispered. His own voice was trembling now, and cold dread settled in his stomach like a sickness. Sirius didn’t say anything. He just squeezed his hand.
He his under the cloak as soon as Madam Pomfrey arrived, and she hurried in, with a terrible grey look on her own face. He sat up, every muscle screaming at him,
“Poppy!” He rasped, “What happened? Please tell me!”
“How are you, first?” She asked, coming over to feel his forehead, “You’re running very high.”
“I feel fine,” he lied, batting her hand away impatiently, “There was an attack, wasn’t there?”
She nodded, wordlessly. His heart thumped, “Who? How many?”
“I don’t know.” She said, very quietly. He had never heard that voice come out of her before. For a moment, she wouldn’t even meet his eyes. She had always looked him in the eye.
“Please.” He said again. She shook her head, very slightly.
“There’s nothing I can tell you. It’ll be in the morning news.”
“I have to see Dumbledore!”
“He’s not here.” She stood up, “Now, can you walk? Professor McGonagall says you’re to go to your lessons as usual, if you’re fit enough? We don’t want anyone asking where you are. I’ll give you something for the pain.”
