The Wolf and the Raven

Ch 11 - I Know What You Are

Over the next several days, Branwen spent every spare moment in the library. She ran out early on meals and dropped in between classes. She pored over every book that contained even a passing mention of werewolves. There weren't many, so she took to reading the same ones again and again, memorising every page. She didn't dare bring any of them out of the library though; she couldn't risk someone finding her with one and questioning her sudden interest in these bizarre creatures.

On the second week of December, Professor McGonagall paid a visit to the Gryffindor common room to pass out a sign-up sheet for students who would be staying at the school over the holidays. Branwen watched through narrowed eyes as Remus accepted the clipboard and signed his name. Stalking over, she snatched it from his hand and wrote her name beneath his.

James' eyes widened. "You're staying, Bran? You're skipping Mum's Christmas dinner?"

"I'm staying too, mate," Sirius shrugged and accepted the sheet, signing his name as well. "Anything to avoid spending another minute with my mother and the rest of my horrid family."

"Fine," James rolled his eyes and scribbled his name down. He passed it to Peter, who shook his head. "Sorry. My gran and gramp are going to be there and my mum makes the best plum pudding." He passed the list on to a group of fourth years and it continued its way around the room.

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It was four days before Christmas and a crust of icy snow lay over the Hogwarts grounds. Unmarred by footsteps, the white slate reflected the glow of the full moon, turning the castle into a gleaming, silver-plated spectacle.

Branwen, though, was unmoved by the picturesque scene. Alone in her dorm, she sat in the window seat, wrapped in a quilt, watching the path of the moon through the sky. She was wondering where her best friend was at the moment. She knew that by morning he would be in the hospital wing, but during the long night his whereabouts were a mystery.

She made herself wait until the bell in the clock tower struck one, then she dressed herself in a warm jumper, a soft pair of corduroys, and slippers with bunny ears on them. She snatched up her school bag and the cloak she had "borrowed" from her brother earlier that day.

The castle was the quietest she had ever seen. Even the ghosts seemed to have found a hidden nook to hibernate in, for she neither heard nor saw anyone on her trek to the hospital wing. Even that great room, before she entered, was resoundingly empty. The Christmas and summer holidays were the only times of the year when no one could be found in need of healing. Madam Pomfrey's office door was shut tight and Branwen could see no light coming from beneath the threshold.

She wasn't really sure what she had expected to find. She had no way to know how early he usually arrived. Resolved to wait, Branwen settled herself into a corner, the cloak snug around her. She pulled out a paper bag full of dinner rolls she had secreted from the Great Hall and prepared herself for a long night.

The morning sun was flooding the spacious hospital room before Branwen awoke with a jerk. She cracked her neck and wiped a bit of dried drool from the corner of her mouth before turning to see what it was that had awoken her.

The door to the hospital wing was swinging shut and two figures were making their way down the aisle of beds. "Almost there, love." Branwen leaned forward. Madam Pomfrey's arm was obscuring her patient, but she knew exactly who it was. "There, dear. Your pyjamas are on the bed. Do you need any help?"

"No." Remus' voice was dry and cracked.

"Alright then. I'll be back in just a moment."

Even though she was invisible, Branwen ducked her head, giving her friend privacy while he changed his clothes. She noticed though, that the shirt and trousers that dropped to the ground were torn and bloody.

When Madam Pomfrey returned, her arms full of potion bottles and salve jars, she pulled some heavy curtains around the bed. Branwen took this opportunity to creep closer. She could hear hisses of pain and the occasional whimper between Pomfrey's soothing murmurs and soft ministrations.

"Alright love; would you like a sleeping draught?" Remus must have shaken his head because, after a silent pause, Pomfrey continued. "All right then. I'll come and check on you in a bit." The curtains parted and Pomfrey disappeared into her office.

Branwen waited a few moments to make sure she wasn't coming straight back, then whispered, "Psst! Remus! It's me. Can I come in?"

"Branwen?" His voice was loud with surprise.

"Shh! I'm not supposed to be here," she hissed, drawing back the curtain and dropping the cloak.

"Why are you here? How did you....What....how...."

Branwen opened her mouth to answer, but any form of coherent thought fled her mind. The Remus before her looked nothing like the friend who, only two days ago, was chasing her in a game of hide-and-seek. He was pale and his breath was coming short and fast. A sheen of sweat had pasted his sandy hair to his face. She couldn't see his body beneath the blankets, but his knuckles were purple and black with bruises and a fierce pink scrape started ran the length of his collarbone.

"How did you know I would be here?"

His question cut through her shock and she disappeared quickly under the curtain, then reappeared dragging a chair. Once she was seated by his bed, she reached into the bag she had brought with her. "Let's see...." she began pulling items out, "I brought you some tea, because my mum says it cures everything. I brought a book, because my dad always reads to me when I'm feeling ill. And I brought some chocolate because, well, everyone needs chocolate."

Remus reached out and weakly grabbed her wrist as she placed the chocolates on the bed. "Branwen. How did you know?"

"Know what?" she smiled innocently.

There was a tense silence between them.

She reached out and softly pried his fingers from her arm. "I don't know anything you don't want me to know, Rem."

He laid back on the pillow, his mind racing. His parents always told him that he had two choices if anyone ever found out. He could deny everything, come up with any kind of excuse, use a memory charm if he to. Or he could confess. He had never used the second option before. Then again, he had never had friends before.

Tears were slowly trickling down his face. Branwen busied herself arranging her gifts on the bedside table and smoothing out his sheets, giving him time to compose himself.

He swallowed thickly. "Have you....have you told anyone else?"

She finally looked up and caught his eye. "No. I thought that if you wanted anyone to know, you would have told them."

"I still don't understand...."

She smiled again. "No offence, Rem, but after watching you disappear once a month every month, it was rather obvious that something was going on. James and the boys are just too oblivious to put two and two together."

"What is it you want?" his voice was hoarse. "Why are you here?"

She crinkled her nose. "What you do mean? I don't want anything. Except to help you. You're my friend. That's what friends do. Help each other, I mean."

The tears were flowing freely now. Branwen reached out hesitantly and swiped her small thumb across his cheek, blinking back her own tears.

When the worst of the sobs seemed over, she removed her hand and reached for the thermos on the table. "Here. It's chamomile." She poured him a cup, still piping hot. "And, I wasn't sure what book to bring, so I brought this." She held up a faded, age-worn book.

"The Tales of Beedle the Bard," he smiled for the first time that night. "The Fountain of Fair Fortune is my favourite."

"Then let's start there," she smiled and slipped a chocolate bar into his fingers before beginning.

"High on a hill in an enchanted garden, enclosed by tall walls and protected by strong magic, flowed the Fountain of Fair Fortune...."