The Twelve Fucks of Christmas: A Wolfstar Story

Dittany and Silver

Remus' day only got worse as the morning wore on. After skipping breakfast (he didn't have much of an appetite after his argument with Sirius) he got dressed and Apparated to the Davies' home for a full day of tutoring with Roger. Their morning lesson passed by uneventfully, but things took an awkward turn when they put away their Astronomy charts and moved onto Magical Creatures for Beginners. It was Roger's favourite subject by far and Remus could only imagine how well he and Professor Hagrid would get on when he finally arrived at Hogwarts.

"Let's see what we're going to be covering today," said Remus, flicking through the textbook while Roger sat waiting patiently for the lesson to begin, quill poised to take notes. "We've already covered hags, red caps and vampires, what's next on the agenda..?"

Remus turned to the next page and his heart sank.

"Cool, werewolves!" Roger exclaimed excitedly. Remus stared at the monstrous illustration of a human halfway through the painful transformation of turning into a werewolf, his face contorted in pain as his limbs snapped and stretched. Remus' mouth was suddenly very dry and he cast a furtive glance at Roger, who looked up expectantly at him. He snapped the book shut and fixed a tense smile onto his face.

"Why don't we leave this for after the holidays and do something else?" he asked hopefully. "I could give you a demonstration on some festive charms if you like?"

Roger pouted, "But I like learning about the animals. Can we keep reading about werewolves, pleeeeease?"

Remus sunk back into his chair, defeated. Short of running out of the house and abandoning the lesson and the child altogether, he didn't have much of a choice but to continue. Slowly, he opened the book back up to the correct page and began to read...

"The werewolf, or lycanthrope, is a human with the ability to shapeshift into a wolf. Lycanthropy is a magical illness known to be spread by contact between saliva and blood. To become a werewolf, it is necessary to be bitten by a werewolf in their wolfish form at the time of the full moon. When the werewolf's saliva mingles with the victim's blood...contamination occurs."

Reading the word 'contamination' was like a punch to the gut. It felt as though he were reading the most private contents of his personal diary aloud. He hesitated a moment before continuing, listening to Roger's quill scratching across parchment as he took notes.

"Werewolves can be easily distinguished from regular wolves by their shorter snout, more human-like eyes, their tufted tail..." he let out a sigh. "And their mindless hunting of humans whilst in wolfish form."

"How can you identify them when it's in human form?" asked Roger innocently. Remus' stomach twisted unpleasantly at being indirectly referred to as 'it', but he replied in an even voice, "It's...difficult to tell." He cleared his throat, which suddenly felt constricted, and continued to read aloud, "Any bite or scratch obtained from a werewolf, whether in human or animal form, will leave permanent scars."

The scratching of Roger's quill paused then and Remus quickly moved his hands under the table and pulled the sleeves of his shirt over his clenched fists, trying in vain to hide the deep cuts across his knuckles, but there was little he could do to hide the white scars across the bridge of his nose and bottom lip.

"Werewolf bites should be thoroughly and magically cleaned, as the werewolf's fangs are venomous. However, there is no cure once you have become a werewolf, so avoid being bitten at all costs," he continued wearily. "A mixture of powdered silver and dittany applied to a fresh bite will seal the wound and allow the victim to live as a werewolf, although tragic tales are told of knowing victims begging for death rather than becoming beasts."

A long silence followed as Remus stared fixedly at the book in front of him, afraid to look into the eyes of the young boy for fear that his shameful expression would give him away. He forced himself to look up and found Roger staring at him with a strange expression on his face—not frightened though, which came as a small relief. If anything, he looked slightly confused, as though his young mind was trying to process a large amount of new information all at once.