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Chapter Text

Everything was an endless cycle of pain. The cold that had anchored itself in his bones creating a dull everlasting pain in his joints that became unbearable as soon as he moved.

Day and night were sewn together by the stormy clouds that never allowed the light and warmth of the sun to enter his cell through the small window of his cell.

The cell itself was made of a gray stone that at the touch seems always wet and cold, so cold, like everything that resides in it. The only thing it could be compared to in the outside world was a crypt, only dead things stay in crypts and his cell was trying so hard to match it. Other than him, in the cell, there wasn't much. Not a bed or even a blanket to divide his body from the floor. Just a bucket that the guards would empty every once in a while. A food tray passed under his door everyday. Never enough to get the strength to move but enough to keep him in his misery. 

Everything in his proximity was on the brim of rotting. From the food on that tray to the wooden bar where the rings for his handcuffs were attached. He could feel it inside of him, eating him alive. The skin of his body melting with the floor in a slow and relentless process interrupted by the always rearer shivers and spasms provoked by the only thing trying keeping him alert: that bloody silver door. It was slowly poisoning his bloodstream but holding him tied to his consciousness. His prison and only hope, the reason for his pain and what kept the memory of who he was chained to him.

The wolf didn't even fight it anymore, when the full moon came he just stared at it like he did in his every other waking moment. The only memory that the dementors did not make it impossible to approach except with immense pain was one of the wolf and his pack who ran through the forest together, his family who he had now lost.

His black dog, the strong stag and that insidious rat. All lost now, the wolf was growing in his maturity when they made him leave. His black dog that comforted him in what he thought was pain. Merlin, he would give even his last sense of being if he could get back his black dog for just one night. 

Now an adult, he had nothing that didn't hurt. He was living in death and all he could do was stare at that silver door in his endless cycle of pain.

~

It was right after the full moon when his routine was disrupted by the fast exit of the dementors from his ward. That usually entailed the entrance of human guards with visitors or a new prisoner. The noise of a door closing at one end of the hallway and one opening almost instantly at the other and. Steps and the familiar scent of the guards traveled in front of every neighbouring cell till they stopped at a few steps from the wolf's. Then the sound of metal chains.

Then came the shouting: “Prisoner 316! Get up and put your hands through the opening of the door. If you try anything we will skin you and make a carpet out of it!”. The wolf knew this wasn't an empty threat. One of his neighbours used to create such a ruckus in his first month and they sewed his mouth shut. But that didn't stop him. A week of banging on the door and all that remained of him was the still lingering scent of blood.

A few hits on the metal regained the attention of the wolf. He lifts his head and shoulders by bringing his arms under him and when seated he reaches for the wall. All he could do was let out a cry when his knees bent to get him up right. His legs were too heavy for his body and certainly not able to sustain it without support. A distant memory of a cane came to him. 

He stumbled towards the door and put his hands through the now opened hole careful not to touch the silver. He felt light headed and heavy chains were closed around his wrists. Then the door was opened and a muzzle was positioned on his face. 

The first step out of his cell was like entering a new world. This could be his last time out of a cell for all he knew. Maybe someone remembered him and wanted to end his useless life. Maybe they were just changing his cell for a smaller one. All the wolf cared about was that out here he felt more alive than ever.  They dragged him through an endless amount of hallways and stairs. They murmured insults at the slow beast that he was but every step felt like a breath of fresh air that the wolf never thought he would get.  

They were descending and the sound of the waves hitting the stone were like what he imagined paradise would be like. He engaged with the idea of being killed here and something akin to hope settled in his chest. But the guards didn't stop till they got in front of an imposing metal gate guarded by a guardhouse.

There they made him change into a shirt and trousers that were definitely made for a hotter weather. They didn't give him any shoes but that was normal to him. His feet were used to the frigid stone.

The gate started to open behind the wolf with a resounding screech. It was as if it hadn't been opened in years. Then an icy blast of air hit him and made his eyes water. As soon as his eyes were cleared he saw a little dock with an old and shaggy boat. They dragged him in and tied the other end of the chains to a banister that ran all along the sides boat. As soon as it started moving his legs gave out on him and he fell on the deck. 

The tides kept crashing on the sides, getting the wolf wet and making him slide from side to side as much as the chains allowed. All he could dwell on was what would he prefer behind being downed or dying by the concussion and whiplash he was getting.  That went on for about three hours and the wolf had exhausted all his strength. His head dangled from side to side and his body was covered in scratches and splinters of wood.

It all came to a sudden stop and the guards reappeared and got him up from his armpits and they dragged him out of the boat. He would not have rebelled even if he had had the opportunity, rebelling even at death tended to prolong the suffering. But they didn't throw him at sea.

They were in land on another bigger pier and near a candle light that shone in the darkness of the gloomy day two figures stood: one was rigid and dressed in what seemed to be elegant long robes, a pointed hat on her head, the other one was shorter and kept jittering in place. A feeling of familiarity hit the wolf when they brought him closer to the woman. They took off his handcuffs and got back on the boat. All the wolf could do was to stare back at the women searching for names that seemed to be just out of reach.

The smaller one reached down for him and put her hand on the side of his muzzled face. She whispered “Remus” and it was like a punch in the gut.

Chapter Text

When Poppy got a letter from Azkaban asking for the utmost secrecy on what it was about to disclose, she didn't even want to open it. It wasn't the first time she got a job offer from the prison, and even if working for Hogwarts was becoming a nightmare, she wasn't that desperate to get absorbed in another cruel organization.  Here she had her wife and a direct link to help everyone in need. There she would be just a slave of what the government wanted. But Poppy was known for her boiling curiosity, and she lasted an hour before giving up and opening the damned letter.

It read: It has come to our attention that due to overpopulation, we have a shortage of cells for those who are for non-violent crimes. We, Azkaban Prison Institution, ask you to take back into your care the dark creature that was in your care eight years ago. If it can alleviate your concerns, we haven't reported any misbehaviors, a thing rare for beasts of its kind, and a steady diminishing in rowdiness even during moons, which came to the conclusion that our methods have proven effective in the taming of this creature. This subject can be used in your studies and any testing you may require, as it's not considered autonomous or privileged with any rights since its imprisonment. Since you’ve shown interest in this beast since the day of its incarceration, we will be happy to make it useful again, instead of proceeding with his execution. Make known a date to pick it up before the end of the month.

With utmost regards,

-Azkaban Prison Institution

Poppy let out a sob as she reread the brief letter. Joy and sorrow danced in her heart as she tried to make sense of the words in her mind. It didn't mention any name on the letter, but she didn't have any students affected by lycanthropy other than… him. Him. If this was really about… him. She needed to tell someone, she needed to. Oh Merlin…

She didn't notice the letter being pulled out of her hands. Cries turned out of her, and as she rested her head in her hands, a calming voice filled her ears. “Poppy, darling, it's fine, you're going to be fine.” Minerva, her wife, appeared behind her, both hands on her shoulders and kind words that pulled Poppy from her panicked haze. Lifting her head, she met her wife's eyes, and after a deep breath, she handed the letter to her love. Minnie read it over, and the grip on her shoulder became quite painful. “Minnie, as you said, it's going to be fine.  We will go get him first thing in the morning. These students will be here in two months, we have all the time to take care of this.”

“Where are we going to bring him?” Minerva whispered in her ear as she hugged the blonde. “We can't bring him to Hogwarts, Dumbledore can't know about this. And we can't care for him while we are here if we bring him home,” she noted. This made Poppy start to list in her mind all the healers that wouldn't have any bias against her boy, and of those, someone that could take care of him during moons. All of a sudden Minerva looked at her and said: “We could ask the Potters. Euphemia is a good healer, and now that she's retired, she has time to help him. Evans, Potter, and the Black brothers still live there, right? They were friends with him, they would like to see him.” Poppy thought back to the boys hanging out in her infirmary to help their friend. Yes, the Potters were their best and probably only choice. 

“Let's go to bed now; we will be at Azkaban as soon as the sun rises.” Minerva got up and went to the bathroom to change and fix herself before heading to bed. Poppy soon followed.

~

At dawn, they were standing at the pier where the guards had said to wait. The first rays of sunshine on their backs brought a little warmth to the dead scenario. Mud was engulfing their shoes and the hem of Minerva's robe; she wasn't happy about it. Poppy had her purse, equipped with an extending charm, over a shoulder, and she clutched it with her hand. She had packed a cane and a winter coat just to be safe, even if it was June. Here in Scotland, it never got too hot. 

The northern sea was gloomy  in front of them, but at least it wasn't raining; his bones always ached on rainy days. His hip would act up, and there he was back to her for some more heavy-duty painkillers. Poppy missed those moments where he would finally let her help him.

Minerva's hand that had snuggled into hers tightened and got her attention. Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, where a boat had appeared from the fog. It went on at a placid pace as it ignored the longing that burned in the women on the shore. Poppy started shifting from foot to foot, eager for the waiting to end. Her mind started spinning with all the doubts and guilt that years of denying herself closure had put in a hidden corner of her conscience. She didn't know if hoping for him to be alive was more cruel than the hope of a fast and painless death. From what she had known, her boy was put in an area that wasn't open to visitors, and she never had the strength to fight for her letters to get through.

The boat was now at the pier, and two men in the Azkaban man's guard uniform apparated next to it. One of them went on it as the other walked towards them. “Poppy Pomfrey?” the guard asked, and she nodded. “Documents?” She handed over her papers. He looked at them and then back at her a few times and then handed them back. He walked back to the boat, and Minerva looked in her eyes to ask, “Are you ready?” Poppy just forced a smile and turned as the sound of something being dragged came from the pier. 

The guards were holding a body that seemed lifeless from the way he wasn't holding any of his weight. His head bounced at every step the guards made. This movement allowed her to glimpse the metal of a muzzle over his face. The hair was long as it was matted and greasy; a shabby beard peeked from his chin from where it escaped the metal. He was soaked from head to toe, and the white shirt he was wearing stuck to his body, becoming transparent, and silver scars shied from underneath.

They were standing in front of the women when they let him go and disappeared somewhere. He fell to his knees, and Poppy ran to steady him before he could let his body hit the ground. His head in her hands, a word left her mouth: "Remus." It all became real at that moment. A name that inspired in her such guilt and remorse that it was the first time in years she allowed herself  the right to say it. 

Remus, the boy that lived in her every thought for the last eight years. The boy that she had come to think of as hers but had thought she would never see grow into the amazing person she knew he could have been.

She let her tears flow as she held his face, caressing his cheeks with her thumbs. She felt Minerva’s hand slide into her purse and pull out the coat that she draped over the boy's shoulders. Then she leaned over Poppy to whisper that it was time to go. Remus was shivering, and his skin was getting cold and pale. If they didn't warm him up soon, he would become hypothermic.

So Poppy and her wife got Remus up, prepared to apparate. That's when she realised that they hadn't warned the Potters of their visit. But she was sure that they wouldn’t mind, not the boy's friends, nor Euphemia and Fleamont. They always had a love for strays.

Chapter Text

It was a hot summer day and Euphemia was starting lunch while Harry played in the living room. The five-year-old was on break from the muggle day care he went to during the year and she was happy to spend her time with her grandson. The boys and Lily were each at their respective job and they would be back by dinner time. Fleamont was upstairs working on some old papers so he could spend the rest of the day with Harry while she worked in the garden. This was the season for moly blooms but she had had problems with their greenhouse during the winter so they will probably be pushed back to the first days of august. 

Regulus, the dear, was helping her with some of the gardening. Especially for the plants that he usually used for his private potion making. He and Lily shared their love for potion and a cellar dedicated to it under the new building that the throuple had built for themselves to get some privacy for their new family. Sirius still shared the main building with the older couple, not that they minded. He was thinking about building a cottage on another side of the property but with all his duties at the ministry he hadn’t got on with the project. 

The Potters manor was a big property in the west country of England, it was on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow where they also had a small town house that was mostly unused nowadays. Euphemia was particularly proud of the gardens that she mainly built herself since that part of the grounds were bought by her and Fleamont only a few years before James's birth. Now that she thought about it, that was more than three decades ago.

That line of thoughts was interrupted by the sound of knocking that came from the front door. The house was so heavily warded that no one that wasn't brought here before by one of the residents, and had explicit permission to come back, couldn't come anywhere near the edge of their land. “i'll take it, Nana,” Harry shouted and ran to the door. There was the sound of something slamming against the wall followed by the muffled word of whoever was there. Then running and Euphemia had just the time to put down the pot from the stove when Harry was there, clinging to her legs and giggling about how madam Ponfrey and Miss Minnie (he loved following his uncle exemple). 

This was quite a surprise. They visited often, but never without notice.And there's where Harry laughed “There was a skeleton with them” and again a shout of her name from the entrance. With long strides she reached the door, the little boy behind her. 

On the doorstep stud Minerva and Poppy, looking more disheveled than ever, and just that was weird for the refined women, and each held an arm over their shoulder. The figure on which the arms were attached was extremely pale and painfully thin. She would think it was a corpse if not for his shaking. He was covered by a heavy cloak that engulfed him and made him appear smaller than his long arms and legs would suggest. 

“Sorry for showing up like this but I need help healing him” declared Poppy as she started pushing past her with Minerva in toe. “What? Who is this? Poppy you can't just show up here with anyone! Harry is here, he's impressionable" she spluttered “Yes, yes, I already apologised, but this isn’t just anyone, it’s Remus! And Harry’s going to be fine, aren’t you, sweetheart?" the boy grinned up at the nurse and he was about to respond when his gran choked out “That's Remus? Are you sure? That can't-""It's him, I'm sure. Now where can we lay him down, he can't be comfortable like this” Poppy interjected and bumped into a wall while trying to get past Effie without tripling over Harry that was in the way. 

That got the woman out of her shock into making way for the little group through the sitting area where Harry had been playing, she gestured for the couch and there Remus was laid. His breathing was slow and made a wheezing sound every time he'd exhaled that can't be helped by that thing on his face that barely let him open his mouth. The leather straps tightened around his head held together by a metal buckle that pressed into his skin. Effie went to fetch a knife from the kitchen, trying to cut it with a spell would be too imprecise and she didn't want to pull on it to open the straps. 

Harry was still following her but he kept staring at Remus “Harry, hunny, can you go up and call your grandpa for me, then just stay and play in his office all right?” With a nod the boy ran up the stairs and Effie was back in the living room trying to cut the muzzle off without pulling on it or cutting Remus. 

The labored breath got better as soon as she removed the pressure from his neck but not a sound left his lips. Poppy was whispering sweet nothings in his ears and Minerva was standing against the wall, probably to give them the space to work on Remus's injuries. And Merlin knows how much he was littered in them: as soon as they got that shirt and pants they saw that his whole left side was full of blisters and bed sores that were eating away at his skin. This was all accentuated by how little meat he had on his bones.

The sound of Fleammont's surprise made Poppy jump as she didn't see him enter the room from behind her. Effie followed him in the corner of her eye as he moved around the couch and laid his hand on her shoulder. She kept assessing the boy's body and whispering underneath her breath some diagnostic spells. Some skin infections and a bit of hypothermia, obviously, but what really concerned her was the dangerous malnutrition and some type of blood poisoning that she couldn't find a cause to. It wasn't obvious without a diagnostic spell, the symptoms were hidden by the other things that the boy got. 

She and Poppy started doing heating and cleaning charms. Removing the levels of grime revealed a paler complexion than what they all first sean, the green and blue of his veins emerged in the snow white of his skin tainting it with a sickly color more suited for a corpse. Remus was sweating profusely and trembling like a leaf at the same time. He was conscious but he didn't respond to external stimuli other than lazily letting his eyes roam the room not focusing on anything particular. That worried Effie a great deal.

With a flick of her wand he tried to close up one of the more prominent sores on the man's back, the healthy skin at the edges trembled and spasamed but didn't move to close itself over the open wound. “It won't work” Poppy's eyes stayed on the boy as she continued “I don't know why, but his body sees most wounds as magical and they won't heal if you use spells. Try some fast healing skin potions and if it doesn't work we will use some muggle medicine and bandages. You should send someone to fetch them if you don't have them.” Effie looked at Fleamont and with a reassuring smile he called for his coat and left for the small down farmacie.

Going back to Remus, she brushed his face to try and get his attention and he still ignored everything around him and his pupils like pin pricks in his eyes didn't seem to change at the shift of light. This was probably due to the aforementioned poisoning, or a number of other things but Effie was still worried by the unknown poison. 

She stood up and excused herself to go into the dungeon where she kept her personal stash of healing potions and ingredients. Running a hand on the jars there exposed she got to the section of antidotes. She wasn't an expert on this particular branch of potion making, her expertise was fast healing and household use potions, and there she hoped that the two experts that her James married would be home soon. Regulus was an expert in all things regarding potions and poisons and Lily was the brightest in diagnosing and healing with brews. A bezoar grained in an elixir of willow tree bark should do for the time being, if not it will exclude a number of poisons.

~

Forcing Remus to drink the brew was far too easy. A hand under his head and one to massage his throat was all it took to get him to consume the vile liquid. When laid back down he didn't move, not a twitch or a spasm from his gag reflex. She would think he was dead if it wasn't for Poppy’s fingers on the pulse point in his neck. All the women could do was done, they had to wait for something to change in the boy (for better or for worse).  

Tears started flowing out of Poppy's eyes as she caressed the pale skin of the boy's face. And all Effie could do was to be thankful of the possibility she had to help and raise her boys even in the toughest of years. She will need a big hug from her sons after this.