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( 𝔳𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔦, 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖞-𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊) — wolfsbane for a werewolf
Remus Lupin was a werewolf.
In other words, a lycanthrope, who under the full moon appeared freakishly similar to a regular wolf yet was anything but. Once a month, his human self was invaded by a demon with human-like eyes, a short snout, and tufted tail.
But Remus Lupin was also her friend. He was a son and a brother and above all, a person.
He wore knitted jumpers and cardigans. He had an affinity for chocolate. He loved reading, and would die on the hill that Muggle literature exceeded magical literature.
Those were the reasons why Evangeline had returned; she cared for him, and had grown to share a bond with him that didn't compare to anything else. It wasn't because she had romantic feelings for him — no, of course not. At least, that was what she told herself when she lay awake at night, yearning to feel the warmth of his touch.
That night had been a busy night, to say the least. Scouring the stores of Knockturn Alley for notoriously inaccessible herbs and potion ingredients was not for the faint-hearted, much less those who were running on virtually no sleep.
But it would all be worth it to help him.
Evangeline had returned at dawn. The Yorkshire moors looked exceptionally beautiful in the morning, misty and dewy over the backdrop of a bleeding sun. It stretched out its golden arms, warm and welcoming, vivid hues of red, orange, and yellow when she stepped into the garden to assess Remus' condition.
It was way worse than what she had expected; a million times, in fact. There were lots of fresh gashes, searing across his alabaster skin, weeping tears of crimson. Her heart lurched into her chest as her eyes prickled with tears, before she collected herself and cast a levitation charm to bring him in.
The brunette settled him on to the sofa in the living room, careful to not stain any of the upholstery. He didn't need anything extra to worry about when he woke up, that was for certain. Even asleep, there was a deep crease between his brows, as well as the sheen of sweat from the struggle tainting his skin.
The next few hours were spent brewing the Wolfsbane Potion; the first batch of many, the Rosier girl decided. It was a complex concoction of aconite, pulverized black quicksilver, giant moonwort, and myrrh pickled in carrow-spider ichor. She smiled in satisfaction when it began to emit a faint blue smoke, before leaving it to ferment.
It was only when Remus began to stir in his sleep that Evangeline busied herself with the next necessity: Essence of Dittany. It was decidedly a simpler solution to make, requiring only dried and crushed dittany leaves, soaked in fifteen drops of salt water.
