Spencer Stewart woke in a strange bed, laying on his back in a room he did not recognize. He could smell so many different things, it was overwhelming, like his senses were on overdrive. He couldn't even identify all the things he could smell, some of the smells were almost a feeling more than a smell, like it was on a completely different level than he had ever smelled something before. And the sounds. He could hear things that weren't there in the room, like phantoms, like far off noises being channeled into his ears. It was like his eyes were seeing one thing but his senses picking up on another room. His mouth, too, tasted funny and thick, and his muscles were tight, bones achey as he pushed himself up from the pillows to a sit.

He was in a pair of pyjamas that did not belong to him and felt bigger than he needed so they felt baggy, like a child wearing a couple sizes too large to "grow into". But they smelled laundered, like detergent, and something... musky, like a forest, with just a hint of warmth like cloves or cinnamon.

As he moved his bones made cracking, popping noises like an old man's body.

He got up, a bit dizzy and utterly disoriented. The waist of the pyjama bottoms was too loose and he yanked the drawstring tighter. He walked across the room as he tied it and looked out the window. Outside was a field, which spread away to a far tree line. There was some sort of game equipment stuck into the ground, big steel rings that looked like a child's drawing, and a garden, walled, with loads of flowers and growing things.

Spencer turned about and on the night stand was a glass of water and he lunged for it, realizing upon sight of it just how incredibly parched he was. He drank the entire glass in a single go, swallowing quickly as he poured it into his mouth. When he put the cup down... it refilled itself.

He stared at it with wide eyes.

Spencer shook his head, rubbed his eyes, and drank it empty again... and again the glass refilled itself the moment he put it down on the night stand.

He felt a chill go up his spine.

He had to wake up - that's all. A dream. There was no such thing as a water glass that refilled itself.

The panic that rose up in him made his heart race and he looked around, trying to remember what his last conscious moment was. Tea - tea in Remus Lupin's kitchen.

Remus Lupin, but not Remus Lupin... A huge, grey wolf with green eyes that stared down at him, teeth bared, drool dripping in thick ropes from his jowls... back lit by the silver of a full moon and the silhouettes of tree tops, looming, like they were leaning in to watch.

But that had to be part of the dream.

Didn't it?

Spencer brought his hand up to his shoulder instinctively, the shattered image of that wolf biting down into his flesh, the searing pain like boiling water running through him... and he found a bandage on his shoulder.

His breath left him and he turned, looking for a mirror or anything that might reflect his image back to himself. He spun to the window again, tearing back the shoulder of the pyjama top, and saw himself like a semi transparent ghost staring back. He peeled away the bandages, frantic, and found there the horrific half moon wound.

And it wasn't the only scar.

He undid the buttons of the pyjama and found that his chest was striped with pink lines, one deep gash oozed blood, as did the half moon wound.

His arms, too, and he squinted into his own eyes and saw a short gash on his cheek that ran vertical from his right cheek bone over his jaw.

Spencer let out a cry, a strangled scream of a sound, and frantically looked around him, unsure what to do, what to think, where he was, what was happening, if he was even awake, if he was even sane.

The door opened then, and a scent filled the room that made his nerves slow, his heart calm, and he looked to find himself staring at Remus Lupin. But there was something different about Remus, something powerful about him that stilled Spencer instantly. He stared at Remus with reverence he didn't entirely understand - but his heart was all in it. He felt ridiculous, but he also had to stop himself from staggering forward and simply dropping to his knees in front of Remus. He clenched his jaw and fists to resist the urge. But something deep inside his biology now screamed to do it.

Remus hovered in the doorway, clutching the frame, a stick in his fist, and a grave look on his face, eyes greener than Spencer ever remembered having seen them before.

"It's okay," Remus said quietly, gently.

Spencer felt his body relax with Remus's tone. It was like his anxiety was a balloon and Remus was slowly letting the air release.

"I'm not going to hurt you, nor will anyone else in this house. You are safe."

Remus stepped more fully into the room, and he seemed to loosen his grip on the stick in his hand. "I know you're scared," Remus whispered. "I can... I can smell it." He sounded as confused about that fact as Spencer was to hear him say it... and even more so to find he understood what Remus meant because he could smell the safety Remus exuded.

"What happened?" Spencer asked. "Where are we?"

Remus kept his tone even. "We are at my friend James Potter's house, in a town called Godric's Hollow. Northwest of London. It is the 6th of November, the morning after the full moon."

Spencer noticed then as Remus moved closer that he, too, had bandages peeking out from the shirt he wore, that his face, too, bore gashes - a set of five of which ran from his left ear and down onto his neck. He stared at the cuts.

Remus felt Spencer's eyes focusing on them and he whispered, "I am alright."

"What did that to you?" Spencer asked, though he thought the answer would be a wolf.

Remus hesitated. "A werewolf."

Spencer breathed the word, "Werewolf?"

Remus nodded.

"Did he - is he the one who -...?" Spencer brought his hand up to hover over the bite on his shoulder.

Remus shook his head. He took a deep breath, then said, "No. I did that to you," he said, and, as Spencer's eyes widened with fear, Remus added, "And you did this to me."

"I --?"

"You."

"I - I - I can't of, I'm not --"

"My bite to your shoulder turned you," Remus said calmly. He held Spencer's gaze. "I... I am a werewolf. And... because of me... because of my bite... you are a werewolf now, too."

Spencer felt himself beginning to shake.

Remus was silent, waiting.

Spencer shook his head. He felt like he could vomit, but there was nothing in his stomach to throw up, and he heaved, empty, as his stomach seemed to have flipped over. He caught himself on the edge of the bed and shook his head, "This has to be a dream.
There's no such thing as werewolves."

Remus hung his head, "There are... and we are only two of many, Spencer."

Spencer shook his head, "Surely not. If - if there were such things there would be laws and royal d-decrees, and --"

"The Ministry for Magic regulates the laws for werewolves, not the Royal Government."

Spencer stammered, "M-m-minist-ministry for for for M-magic now?"

"Yes, a - a Ministry which governs over the Wizarding World, entirely separate from the Queen or the British Parliament, and --"

"N-no, no no - no, you're a liar, you're making this up you're --"

Remus stepped closer, extending his free hand to steady Spencer, who looked ready to knock over. "It's a lot, I know, I'm sorry."

"You're mad, is what you are," Spencer spat.

"Spencer, I'm so sorry." Remus shook his head, his voice breaking, "I know... I know this is so much for one person in one day and I do apologize for overwhelming you. I do."

"Why are you doing this to me?" Spencer asked, "What are you playing at? Are you trying to make me think I've gone mad? To what end?" He was shaking.

"No, I'm not trying to make you think you've gone mad. I'm trying to keep you from thinking you've gone mad, really.."

"Well you're doing one hell'uva job of it, aren't you?" Spencer demanded.

"Spencer, there are such things as werewolves. And as wizards. I know because I am both of those things. I am a werewolf. I am a wizard, and I will prove it to you." He lifted his hand. "Lumos," he announced, and the tip of the stick lit up.

Spencer shook his head, "A trick with a battery or --"

"Accio book," Remus said, flicking his wrist and a book that sat on a dresser across the room flew to Remus and he caught it in midair.

"Invisible...wire..." murmured Spencer, though with less conviction than he'd had a moment before.

Remus's eyes were apologetic. "Levicorpus," he said and Spencer was lifted off the ground as though someone had scooped him up in an invisible palm, floating a good five feet from the ground so that his palms were pressed against the ceiling, like he might float away if the roof hadn't been there.

He kicked his legs, "Put me down, put me down."

Remus nodded and just as gently as the invisible palm had lifted him up, he was lowered back down to the floor. Spencer slid to the floor and hugged the bedpost, as though to ground himself, and he stared up at Remus, tears pooling in his eyes. "I'll tell everyone. I'll tell the entire world. I'll tell --"

"Spencer, you won't. No one will believe you except the people who already know. And if you tell too many, the Aurors will come after you... the Ministry won't allow you to tell too many before they act... and trust me, as a - a werewolf, you don't want the Ministry to come knocking." Remus sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling. "I'm so bloody sorry. But it was the only way. There was - you were poisoned and --"

"Poisoned!?" Spencer gasped, "Poisoned by who? By what?"

Remus swallowed nervously, "I - it was - it was an accident, the poisoning."

Spencer stared at him.

"I - It was aconite, which is an herb, it's quite - quite deadly for humans, but it's very beneficial for werewolves. It tames the wolf, you see, and when it's close to the full moon it's a great remedy to help ease the pain and --" Remus bit his lip. "I made us tea, and I - I accidentally gave you my cup, see."

"You poisoned me?" Spencer asked, incredulous. "You poisoned me so you could attack me?"

"I didn't attack you," Remus said, "I - You were dying, Stewie."

"I - Oh God." It was coming back to Spencer suddenly. The Halloween Party. The things Lula had said. The things he had said - to Remus. The choking, breathless feeling. Flashes. Flashes of the sound of a beeping monitor - a heart monitor. Flashes of Remus transforming. Nightmarish, garish, macabre. He covered his eyes as though that could block out the memory.

Remus knelt slowly beside him. "I'm sorry. You have no idea how horrible I feel, now guilty --"

Spencer looked up at Remus.

Remus's mouth ran dry. "It was - it was the last resort, the only option. If I hadn't of bitten you, you would've died. But I promise you, I promise I'm here for you. I'm here to help you. I'll do whatever I can. Anything I can. Honest. Whatever will help you in the transition, I'm here for you."

"Leave me alone," Spencer whimpered, hiding his face again.

"I can answer any questions you have, Spencer, anything you want to know --"

"I want you to leave me alone," Spencer said firmly. "Please, just leave me alone."

Remus stared at him for a long moment, but he didn't look up and finally Remus stood up and walked slowly across the room, looking back as he went, his heart breaking for Spencer, who rocked himself gently on his haunches. 

"I'll be just out in the hallway, should you need me," Remus murmured, and he stepped out the door.

Downstairs, James and Sirius were in the living room. The telly was on playing a rerun of Tales of the Unexpected, and Sirius was laying upside down, legs over the back of the couch. James was reading the Daily Prophet. It was mid-morning, Lily had gone to her class once she and Sirius had recovered from morning sickness. Sirius was gnawing on a digestive as he watched a ridiculous tale about a woman cheating on her husband and the expensive mink fur coat she was gifted.

"What a dumb, dumb bitch," Sirius murmured, shaking his head and removing the edge of the digestive biscuit from his mouth. "Look at her, she's going to pawn the thing."

James lowered the paper, "What?"

"The mink her New York lover gave her, the lying whore."

James looked at Sirius, then turned back to his paper. 

Sirius watched the story progress and after a bit let out a great snort of laughter, "He's got her! Her's got her - look at this James, her old man's called her number." Sirius looked up at James, but he was buried behind the news paper once again. Sirius finished off the digestive in a couple quick bites and then sat up, rolling to be upright on the couch beside James. He leaned against his friend, peeking to see what he was reading about.

The werewolf attacks in Blackburn.

Sirius sighed and glanced up toward the ceiling. "Do you reckon Moony and Spencer are alright up there?"

James lowered the paper, glancing at Sirius, then following his gaze to the ceiling. "I hope so."

Sirius frowned.

"It'll be alright, mate," James said. 

Sirius nodded.

James raised the paper again.

Sirius scratched behind his ears.

"You don't have fleas again, do you?" James asked, not even looking up.

Sirius looked appalled. "No!" He paused, scratched again, studied his fingers, then said, "Absolutely not."

James smirked from behind the paper, "You need to use that special shampoo we got you like a good boy."

"Fuck you," Sirius replied, but he made a mental note to figure out where the bottle had  gone off to when he got home.

James finally folded up the paper and threw it onto the coffee table before him. "Another person's been bitten in Blackburn," he murmured. "Mr. Underhill's going to be in a right fit about it."

"Do you lot have any leads?"

"Not particularly. Mr. Underhill's fairly certain it's someone trying to form a new pack that's doing it. The imprints are all the same but they don't match any in the registry... so it isn't Greyback."

Sirius shook his head. "I'm sure the fucker's got something to do with it."

"I don't know. He was at Ovington Square when the Prewett Twins..." James let the sentence fade off and frowned, unable to speak the word of what they'd done. He stared at the paper, putting his feet up on the edge of the coffee table, knees bent before him. "...He was fighting Remus, remember?"

"Yeah, but I'll still bet he's got something to do with it."

James shrugged. "I wish I knew or had any idea at all. They just keep on biting, though, and people have gone missing and it's a great big mess. They can't even solve where such a large community would be hidden - even if it's just the one biter and the people they've bitten already, it's still big enough that they ought to have been caught with how many aurors are crawling about the place." He shook his head.

Sirius leaned back into the cushion, staring up at the ceiling again.

"They execute werewolves that are caught who have bitten..." Sirius whispered, "Don't they?"

James looked at Sirius, then glanced up at the ceiling.

They were both quiet for a time.

Suddenly Sirius turned, sliding onto his knees so he was kneeling on the cushion beside James, staring directly into his best mate's ear. "James," he whined. "Proooongs."

"What?" James asked, having been lost in thought he stirred and looked at Sirius again.

"I'm bored, James. We never have any fun anymore. Let's have fun."

James stared at Sirius with one eyebrow raised, then a smirk played over his lips.

"Okay," James said. "What'd you have in mind, Padfoot?"