Heiress of the Curse

Chapter Four - Noctus Lunae Plenae

The noxious odor of Wolfsbane wafted down the hallway and reached Rhiannon's nose even before she opened the door to her potions-brewing room and entered. It was time to see if her latest efforts at making the Wolfsbane potion were successful, and she wasn't too optimistic about it. The last time she'd tried, she had somehow managed to make the liquid in the cauldron explode, and her right hand still bore the burn scars from where it had splashed on her.

Now she warily crossed the stone floor and approached the fire pit at the far end of the room, where her well-worn cauldron hung, a simmering concoction inside. She picked up a long-handled ladle, as well as a vial of tester solution, and carefully scooped up a sample of the bubbling brew. Pouring it into the tester liquid, she sloshed it around a bit and waited for the color to change. If the Wolfsbane potion had been properly produced, this mixture should turn a bright shade of orange. But to her dismay, as she watched it anxiously, its sickly hue of murky green turned an even murkier brown.

She swore, frustrated. When was she going to get this stupid potion right?! This had to be, what, her fifth attempt at making it this month? Never mind that it was extremely hard for even moderately talented brewers to concoct--this was for her husband, here, and she felt sure that she'd done all the steps correctly!

"Another long, painstaking effort, down the drain!" she ranted, slamming the botched sample of potion and tester down on her worktable. Some of it sloshed onto the stained wood surface, and there was a hissing sound as it began to eat through the tabletop. "Oh crap!" she exclaimed, and she hurriedly grabbed her wand to Vanish the acidic substance away.

Turning her back in defeat, she slouched out of the room without even cleaning up the rest of her mess. She could do it later, she decided, when she was in less of a sour mood. Besides, Marian was due to arrive at any time now, and the rising of the full moon shortly thereafter would bring more urgent matters she'd need to attend to.

As she headed back downstairs to the master bedroom to see if Remus was awake, she decided not to tell him that she'd once again failed to make the potion. It was a good thing she'd thought to keep this latest attempt a secret. She knew that Remus would only chide her mildly and say she was being too hard on herself and that it was "perfectly understandable you haven't succeeded yet." Indeed, they both knew she was too much of a perfectionist sometimes, and she had no desire to bring up a discussion about that again. Especially not tonight.

There's always next time, she told herself. I will not give up until I've got this potion right! But now I'm out of Wolfsbane again, and I'll have to nip on over to Knockturn Alley to get some more soon.

Knockturn Alley was the only place she'd been able to obtain a constant supply of the crushed yellow variety of the aconite plant; and, fortunately, the shop owners of the apothecary there asked no questions as to why she made this particular purchase so often. Rhiannon was even starting to get used to traversing the dark, dodgy alleyway every few weeks... perhaps too used to it, as she'd found herself becoming very curious about what else was being sold in those shops. Probably it was the same sort of ghastly-looking things she'd stumbled upon while illicitly exploring her grandfather's attic years ago (and nearly having her fingers bitten off by a sinister, fanged jewelry box). Her pureblood family members were no strangers to the Dark Arts, although her parents had never practiced them and had admonished her to stay far away from Dark magic. In that area, at least, she had always willingly obeyed them. But Knockturn Alley still held a strange allure...

She shook off those thoughts, annoyed at herself. Stop letting your mind wander in that direction--"curiosity killed the cat," you know... or the fox, as the case may be. Just get back to the situation at hand, she told herself. She was now halfway across the sitting room, striding toward the bedroom door at the far end.

Upon entering their room, she found Remus sitting up in bed and swinging his legs over the side to stand up. She greeted him warmly, and he responded with a wan smile, asking her what time it was.

She glanced at her watch. "Quarter to eight," she informed him. "And by the way, I thought I'd let you know that our young friend Marian is coming over this evening, too."

Remus raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. "Didn't tell her parents, then?"

Rhiannon shook her head. "No. She says her dad isn't very, ah... favorably disposed toward werewolves. Pity, that--but not unexpected."

"Yes, unfortunately," agreed her husband with a deep sigh.

"So," said Rhiannon briskly, heading back into the sitting room with Remus right behind her, "I've already prepared a second room in the basement where she can--er--stay." The ironic thought crossed her mind then, It sounds like we're running a hotel for werewolves or something. "I figured I would put all the charms and wards on her room first, and then come in with you and we can secure that room ourselves. All right?"

"Fine," he nodded tiredly. His face held the usual pallor that the full moon induced, and the strands of silver in his hair seemed to reflect its nearly risen light.

Before either of them could say anything else, they both heard a noise from the direction of the fireplace and turned to see that Marian was just arriving via the Floo Network. (After she and Rhiannon had come up with the Wizarding camping trip idea, Rhiannon had suggested that Marian Floo to her house instead of riding her bike, as it was much faster and less physically taxing.) The girl staggered into the room and brushed cinders off her clothes and the overnight bag she carried, then greeted them in a haggard-sounding voice. Immediately she leaned against the back of a nearby armchair for support.

Though Rhiannon could see how obviously exhausted Marian was--and felt a quick rush of pity at how small, vulnerable, and scared the girl appeared--she blinked in surprise for a moment because Marian's face wasn't nearly as pasty-white as she'd expected. Peering more closely at the girl, she guessed that Marian had applied a good deal of magical make-up and remembered that she'd looked this way when Rhiannon had played Aunt Sarah. Smart idea, kid--although you just barely fooled your mother, she recalled. She stepped forward to welcome the girl.

"Marian, I'm glad you're here," she said, trying to reassure the young werewolf (and herself) with a smile. "We've got about ten minutes to spare, and I'd like to be able to have a chat with you before moonrise, but I think we should go down to the basement right now."

The girl nodded her assent, seemingly too frightened to speak. Wordlessly she followed Remus and Rhiannon down a short corridor to the stairs that led to the basement. Rhiannon flicked the lights on with a spell, and they descended. The main room of the basement was a pleasant-looking, carpeted lounge area with a billiard table (a Muggle game which Remus had become quite fond of) and some squashy sofas. Its comfortable and inviting atmosphere, however, was a sharp contrast to a couple of other chambers that lay beyond it. The Lupins led Marian past the lounge area toward an innocuous wooden door at the far end of the room.

Rhiannon paused before the door, hesitated, and then glanced sideways at her husband. Her coffee-colored eyes beseeched his amber ones to lend her some inner strength for the heart-wrenching task she needed to perform in a few short minutes--locking Marian away so that the bloodthirsty beast the girl was about to become would only wreak havoc on herself and not on some innocent passerby.

Just a month ago, Marian was the innocent passerby, Rhiannon mused bitterly. She was not usually so resentful during full moons, as she had become used to the routine with Remus; but a young, terrified girl's first experience of the transformation... Her heart screamed at the injustice of Marian's plight.

Remus met her gaze with a look that let her know he understood how she felt. Heck, he understood it a lot better than she did, actually--from a firsthand point of view. With that thought in mind, she steeled herself, and she raised her wand to cast Alohomora on the doorknob. The lock sprang open, and she led Marian into the chamber.

It was mostly bare, plain white walls, no windows. She had moved out the spare furniture that used to sit in here--a number of rather horrible-looking, moldy olive green armchairs Remus had inherited, along with this house, from his eccentric Aunt Matilda. Remus had felt too bad about throwing the furniture away, as his great-aunt, although quite batty and likely colorblind, had been one of his few relatives not to shun him for his lycanthropy.

Rhiannon watched now as Marian's eyes wandered over the room; the girl was still clutching her bag so tightly that her knuckles matched the color of the walls. Oh, I'd forgotten about that bag of hers. "Here, Marian, let me take that for you and set it on one of those sofas for now. Don't want to risk running it up to a guest room," she added, "this close to the time-- And of course you don't want to leave it in here to get shredded..." As she trailed off, she wondered if she had put her foot in her mouth. Licking her dry lips, she decided that they didn't taste a whole lot like shoe leather, although they were almost parched and cracked enough due to her nervousness--

She shook off the odd thought as Marian rather numbly relinquished her bag. Rhiannon decided to levitate it over onto a sofa, and when that task was accomplished, she turned back to the girl. What to say... Her watch said she only had five minutes to spare, so they'd best get moving.

"Now, uh, Marian," she began. "I've already put a number of charms on the walls in here, like a silencing one and a cushioning one. That way it can't hurt so much if you-- Well. There's also that cabinet up there," she pointed at the room's one piece of ornamentation, a small wall-mounted wooden cupboard that Marian could reach into if she stood on her tiptoes. "You might want to put your clothes in there to keep them from getting... torn about. It locks, and it's up high enough--" Another awkward pause.

Marian's gaze had been locked onto the floor, after a brief glance at the cabinet, for most of Rhiannon's speech. But presently she lifted her eyes again, and Rhiannon saw that they were oddly bright. Just like Remus's always got... then a tremor wracked the girl's small frame.

Rhiannon nearly jumped backwards, startled, as the thought flitted through her mind: was the transformation starting already? But no, after a moment or two, the only thing that had sprouted on Marian's face was a silver trail of tears tracing the delicate curve of her cheekbones down to her jaw line. She sniffled and shook some more, shoulders slumped, crossing her arms tightly over her midsection as if attempting to contain herself.

On an impulse, Rhiannon stepped forward and gave the girl a short embrace. "It'll be all right," she said hollowly, her voice choked up and the trite words falling coldly into their silent graves. Then she stepped back, glancing once more at her watch, which had just struck the hour. She quickly moved out of the room and shut the door behind her. Alohomora was nothing compared to the wards and locking spells she used to secure it. Finally, she crossed the main room of the basement to the other chamber where Remus was already waiting for her.

She was glad, on nights like this, that a fox's emotions were much simpler and easier to control than her human ones were.

* * *

Marian sat huddled against the wall, her knees pulled up to her chest, the ominous click of the door-latch still ringing in her ears. The tears and shaking had abated somewhat, and at the back of her mind a voice began to nag, You're fooling yourself, you lily-livered girl. You're mental--this can't be real! Honestly, Rhiannon even said these walls have been padded... See, you must've been finally thrown into the loony bin. Werewolf curse, indeed.

A second voice, more immature and quite terrified, began to whimper, Don't let it happen, don't let it happen--this can't be happening--I want my mum!

The part of her brain that did believe what was about to happen could not coerce her limbs into standing up to remove her clothes, as she knew she ought to. What did it matter, anyway, if these easily replaceable pieces of fabric were shredded? Her mind and body, all her self-control, were about to go the same way; and this horridly suspenseful waiting only agitated the process.

Even so, she was caught off-guard when the first wave of pain jolted through her body.

A sharp cry was torn from her throat, mostly one of alarm and fearful anticipation. Her whole body had suddenly gone rigid; she almost felt like she was paralyzed; and then another painful tremor coursed over her. No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!

It was too late. It was happening now.

Her terrified eyes glanced downward and saw that she had begun to sprout thick brownish-gray fur all over--her skin felt as if a million small needles were pushing themselves out from underneath it, tingling in the sharp, unpleasant way that an "asleep" limb often does upon waking up.

A moment later, she started to feel a twisting, crunching, grinding sensation, as all the bones in her body began reshaping themselves. She screamed again in pure agony; she hadn't known that this much pain was possible to experience. She had unconsciously slumped over to lie on the floor, rolling onto her side, curled in almost a fetal position.

Her spine was now elongating, pushing out at the end to form a tail, and her skin was stretched so tightly by the shifting bones that she felt it might burst open at any second. Her hands and feet were forming into large, powerful paws with deadly looking claws. Her clothes had, by now, been ripped apart and mostly fallen off; she twisted and writhed on top of their remains.

A new, sickening feeling deep inside her body must be her organs changing and rearranging themselves... the haze of pain was so thick and all-pervasive now that her vision had blurred and everything in the room (which wasn't much) had taken on a reddish tint. She gasped desperately for breath, barely noticing the tears still streaming down her changing face--barely noticing much of anything except the pain. Her consciousness tried desperately to shrink itself, to hide in some far corner of her mind, to curl up, to disappear so she wouldn't have to endure this anymore... but she couldn't make it go away--not yet.

When her mouth and nose began to elongate into a muzzle, and her eyes shifted out nearer to the sides of her head, along with her ears migrating upward and growing larger, she knew that the transformation must be nearing its end. In an intermittent moment of stronger mental clarity, she realized that her screams had now become crooning howls, as her wolf's muzzle and sharp, deadly fangs were just about fully formed.

And then, finally, the most dangerous and terrible effect of the transformation surfaced. The dementia.

A stab of anger--coldhearted, primal rage--overtook her mind, swift as a dagger stroke. For a moment it pulled back, and she struggled to understand what had just happened; what was she doing here, where was she, what was going on, who was she? And then the rage resurfaced, this time growing and growing unrestrainedly. She found herself on her feet--her paws--growling ferociously and beginning to lunge toward the nearest wall.

All control, all human thoughts, all pain, all memories, all other emotions, slowly left the wolf's mind, and she was no longer Marian Rose Caldwell, model Hogwarts student.

I've given birth... to a monster... was the last shard of thought to fall from the shattered window pane of her mind. And the world pulled dark curtains around her.

* * *

Douglas Caldwell, Marian's father, just couldn't seem to fall asleep that night. He didn't know why; nothing in particular had been troubling him with his family, or his job, his marriage, or anything else he could think of. It was strange: he usually slept quite soundly.

Glancing over at his wife, Elizabeth, he saw that she was resting peacefully, her beautiful dark hair spread out around her over the pillow. He resisted the urge to stroke it, as that might wake Libby, and instead slipped quietly out of bed. He paused at their bedroom window to push aside the curtains and gaze out at the starry sky. The full moon gently illuminated the back lawn, its reflected light glinting weakly off the swing set he'd built for the kids when they were younger. He stood and watched as a breeze kicked up and made the swings move slowly backward and forward.

Memories came to him then of pushing his little Marian and Kevin on those very swings, using his hands, the Muggle way, and not his wand, to allow more intimate contact between them. Their sweet, laughing faces, their short legs pumping away, begging their daddy to push them higher, higher, until he warned them that if they went any higher, they'd soar away with the birds.

He smiled, enjoying the remembrance. How quickly they had grown from those energetic little tykes into budding adolescents, sixteen and twelve now, looking taller and more like their parents every day. Marian, in particular, was so like Libby had been at that age that Douglas occasionally wondered if his wife had somehow managed to duplicate herself without any aid from a father... but that, of course, was silly. It was just that he so rarely caught any glimpses of himself in Marian, and it was much more difficult for him to relate to her than to Kevin. He and his daughter were so different in the area of personality: he preferred to approach life in a calm, logical, bordering on aloof manner, while Marian had always trusted her gut instincts and often did things impulsively and "hands-on." He followed his brain; Marian followed her heart. He understood why she had been Sorted into Gryffindor and he into Ravenclaw. What I don't always understand is how to deal with her and how to be a good parent to her.

Now that he was thinking about that whole issue, had it been his imagination, or had Marian recently been avoiding him a bit? For the past couple of weeks, he estimated, she'd seemed more pensive, moody, and quiet. Less active, maybe, too. He hadn't given it a lot of thought before now, and he still reasoned that it was probably just hormone-related teenage girl problems--something that it would be better for Libby to help their daughter with. He could just leave it alone, after a brief mention to his wife of his concern, and let the women work it out themselves... Yes, that seemed best. He would make sure to have a chat with his wife about that in the morning.

Turning away from the window, he was about to let the curtains fall back into place and head to the kitchen for a brandy, when he suddenly heard a mournful howling noise coming from somewhere outside. He froze in his tracks. Howling... the moon was full tonight. That couldn't be...? He shuddered.

To his knowledge, there were no werewolves that lived in this area. The region was largely populated with Muggles, and come to think of it, many of them had dogs. It was probably just some neighbor's ornery dog making that racket. He tried to calm his mind, and he reasoned to himself that he and his family were in no danger, anyway--they were indoors.

And then it hit him: Marian was not home, or indoors tonight. Marian was on a camping trip.

A camping trip! In the woods! On the night of a full moon! With wizards! What are they, fools?! They should know of the dangers if there happened to be a werewolf around! Suddenly his mind was racing, and he paced across the room, furious. His precious daughter was out there in the wilderness of southern Wales with Merlin-knew-what kind of people (he'd never met Jacinda's family, the Davidsons, before) and he hadn't realized there could be danger until it was too late to stop Marian from going!

Now wait a minute, it was Libby who talked to Jacinda's aunt and gave Marian permission. You weren't even home at that time, an inner voice reminded him. And since Libby's a Muggle, she wouldn't be worried about werewolves. Neither she nor you even realized it was full moon--it's not something you have any particular reason to keep track of.

He stopped pacing for a second, throwing up his hands in annoyance. It was all true. He couldn't blame Libby, and he couldn't really blame himself either. But could he blame the Davidsons? They should have checked the weather conditions, the phase of the moon, everything like that before scheduling such a trip. He fumed, frustrated, and not least of all because he wasn't exactly sure what area of what national forest they had gone to. If he'd known their location, he would definitely Apparate over there right now. But he couldn't. He couldn't do anything.

Merlin's beard... I can't believe this, he thought fretfully. Marian possibly in trouble in the woods-- and then he remembered. Wait a minute. We've been through this scenario before. Just last month, when she was out by herself and got attacked by a bear. What is it with that girl and dangerous ordeals in the forest? And why on earth was all of this craziness happening so suddenly?

After a few more moments of pacing, his rational mind slowly began to regain control over his fatherly protective instincts. He sank down into the chair at his desk, and he tried to convince himself that Marian most likely was not in any real danger. What were the chances, anyway, of a werewolf--an extremely rare creature in England, he knew as fact--to happen to be in the same small area as his daughter at the same time? The odds were so slim that they were practically negligible, he asserted to himself. Marian would be fine. Let her have fun with her friend without hovering around like some kind of paranoid watchdog, he told himself. She's growing up; you're going to have to get used to it sometime.

He forced himself to return to bed, and eventually he drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, after having his little talk with Libby about their daughter (and not mentioning his fears about werewolves), the only thing his wife said to him, with a strange, knowing smile on her face, was, "You two are more alike than you know, Douglas."

He puzzled over that sentence for the rest of the morning.

* * *

It was cold. She couldn't move. She was barely aware of her surroundings, except to feel blindly that she lay sprawled facedown on some kind of hard, flat surface; and every inch of her body felt like it had been shoved through a food-processing unit.

Marian opened her eyes hesitantly, blearily, to a world that was entirely white and red. Striped like a candy cane... or a zebra. How funny. Is it white stripes on black, or black stripes on white? she thought fuzzily, remembering the old, unanswerable riddle about the zebra. Similarly, was this room white with red stripes, or red with white stripes?

As her mind and vision became gradually less foggy, she finally recognized where she was, and she remembered what had happened to her last night. In the instant of realization, a shock jolted through her body. She immediately shut her eyes, horrified, and failed to suppress a whimpering moan. It was white with red stripes that she saw around her--the bare white walls and floor of the Lupins' basement chamber, which were splattered everywhere with the crimson stains of her own blood.

She couldn't bear to think of what her body must look like right now. She'd have her own stripes, she knew, and indeed it felt as if she had been shredded to ribbons. Without moving her throbbing head, she could see that her right arm was oozing blood from a nasty gash, and her other limbs were all surely bleeding as well. And I did this... I did it to myself... Bitter tears stung her eyes.

Now that she had come back to herself, her human form, and her mind had returned, she longed to fall into unconsciousness once again. The pain, the humiliation, the misery overwhelmed her, and she couldn't bear to be herself any longer. Why did this all have to happen? Why? WHY?

As she mentally railed at the universe in general and the werewolf that had bit her in specific, she heard the door suddenly creak slightly, and she painfully turned her head in that direction as much as she could; it was an exhausting effort. After a moment, she saw Rhiannon peek her head inside the room, and then she remembered with extreme embarrassment that she was naked. If there had been enough blood left in her body to spare some to rise into her cheeks, she would have blushed furiously. The only thing that somewhat lessened the humiliation of being found like this was the fact that she was lying front-side down on the floor.

Still, she had no desire to meet Rhiannon's pity-filled eyes right now, and so she half-closed her own and turned their gaze away toward a corner of the room, where she noticed a bunch of splotchy red paw prints and a large tuft of fur stuck to the clawed-up wall.

She didn't feel like looking in that direction anymore, either.

Closing her eyes, she heard Rhiannon's light footsteps crossing the room and stopping beside her as the woman knelt down to examine her gently. A murmured spell, and the bleeding in her arm was staunched. Rhiannon repeated the spell for the rest of Marian's open wounds, and then she conjured up something soft and warm to place across Marian's body. It felt like a blanket. Marian winced a little as it touched her bites and scratch wounds, and Rhiannon must have noticed because she said, "I'm sorry, luv. Let's just get you out of here and into a proper bed, and I'll give you potions for the pain. And for sleeping."

Marian groaned a little in response; it was all she could muster. Then she felt herself being floated into the air as Rhiannon muttered, "Locomotor corpus." Marian remained in a lying-down position, a couple feet above the floor, and thought that it was the strangest sensation she'd experienced in a long time. The strangest good, or at least neutral sensation, that was.

Rhiannon floated her back upstairs and down the hallway, then into a guest bedroom on the ground floor, one that was fully equipped with a door this time. The bed was pleasantly fluffy, and thankfully Rhiannon was very careful about setting Marian down upon it. As soon as Marian was situated under the covers, on her back now and sitting up slightly, Rhiannon bustled off to a small table in the corner that held several flasks and vials of potion, two of which she brought over to Marian.

"Here, can you drink this?" Rhiannon said, holding one of the potions up to Marian's lips, since the girl's hands were in rather bad shape to do it herself. Marian downed the foul-tasting elixir in a few choking gulps and reminded herself to be grateful for the horrible stuff, although she wished she could wash it down with some butterbeer. However, another equally disgusting potion followed the first one, and she couldn't wait for their effects to start kicking in.

After Rhiannon helped her to return to a fully horizontal position, Marian did start to notice a slight dulling of the pain in her body. She closed her eyes again wearily, and soon she heard Rhiannon move toward the door and bid her a peaceful slumber, promising to check on her in a few hours' time.

Just moments after the door closed, drowsiness like a swelling wave finally washed over Marian, and the undertow pulled her down to pacific rest in an ocean of slumber.