This is a short fanfic about Remus Lupins childhood. Its in three parts, and i hope you enjoy it.




Mr Fisher lay in bed 6 in ward 9 of St Mungos. He was in after a niffler had given him a really nasty bite on the chin. With a huge bushy beard taking up half of his face, the niffler thought he was a bit intimidating, and decided to attack viciously. Although it was cleaning stitched and healing now, healers had made the decision to keep him in to make sure he didn’t contract any disease. Although he was recovering well, he would have to spend at least another two weeks cooped up on his hospital bed, taking 15 different kinds of potions a day. But, he was getting by, with books, newspapers, and a huge supply of Honey dukes candy his wife had sent him. On his third day, he sat on his bed in his quiet ward, reading a thrilling article in the daily mail about Gringotts, and was eating his chocolates he had been sent that day. But minutes after reading the first line, He jumped out of his bed when he heard a terrible howl. He was extremely startled, and he clutched his heart dramatically, as he’d never heard such a thing. It tore his ears apart, as it was almost from a ghoul. But it sounded more beast than human. He looked quizzing around, to find the source of noise. His eyes widened at the door as several healers came trudging in, huddled together, and concealing what was in the middle of them. They came towards the bed opposite Mr Fisher, and parted to put the huddled patient on the bed. In their arms was a small boy, must have been no older than six. But Mr Fisher still gasped for air at the boys face. He was horrified at what he saw. The child had a great long Slash down his right cheek, which was bleeding heavily. He had a black eye, several bite mark over his frail arms and legs, but none compared to the ghastly slash down his young face... His light brown hair was fritted across his cut, as blood stained as his body. Some healers where dabbing at the cut with a heavily scented glop of a potion. Yet his eyes were gently closed, unknowing of his new beaten features, his mouth lolling open. A distraught wizard with baggy eyes and bloodied robes was hurrying behind the healers, struggling to keep up and trying to desperately clutch the boys hand as tears poured down his sad face. A commotion came from the door, and as Mr Fisher turned from the injured boy, some silhouettes where recognisable through the darkened windows. An older healer, obviously higher up, was yelling quick nonsense at his fellow healers, trying to get a very important point across. The only notable words were “other patients” and “danger to you as well.” But the staff took no notice, simply replying “there’s no room elsewhere, all isolation wards are full.” Carrying on, the other Healers tried to gently place the boy on the bed opposite Mr Fisher, but it was more of a thud, as the young healers weren't very co-ordinated. But the boys eyes remained closed, as if sleeping. Mr Fisher couldn’t believe this, as the amount of noise was quite unnerving, but summed up there was more damage to this lad than just cuts and bruises. The healers looked uneasingly at each other, then to the boy, then to the distraught wizard. As they caught Mr Fishers shocked looks, frowned, and they drew the curtains around the boy... There they had a hushed conversation with the sad wizard. Mr Fisher didn't want to be nosey, but he leaned in closer to hear it. But he could hear were snippings of there sentences. But he heard some words like "Werewolf" and "usual
Target". But Mr Fisher got the general idea. That boy was a werewolf. He was attacked by a werewolf. And he was on the same ward as him. This couldn’t be happening, there were rules against it. After a few more minutes of inaudible whispers, they drew the curtain back. The healers hurried away, scribbling things on clipboards with disheartened looks. The sad wizard was left standing bewildered by the sudden loss of commotion, and slowly turned his head down to his son, left weakly in a hospital bed. He sighed, He drew up a chair, literally, and sat down, holding the boys hand. Even that was ferociously torn apart. He caught Mr Fisher’s eye, and Mr Fisher turned suddenly, not wanting to look rude as he was staring, but the wizard sighed meekly, and opened his mouth to speak. But no sound came out; it was too shocked to talk. He finished attempting to converse, burying his head in his arms. Mr Fisher felt a surge of extreme pity towards both of them.

Oh that was soo cute. That poor man and he son. (who i think i'm know who they are) You did beautifully on this post and i'm sure u'll do wonderful with the others. PAMS
~Michelle~

Thanks so mcuh! heres the second part...


The boy was asleep for two more days, never moving, and staying exactly the same as when the healers hastily dumped him in bed... His father didn't leave his side, only once or twice to apparate home to give any news, or popping outside to smoke a heavily musked pipe. He often fell asleep at his side, and each morning awoke excited as if to see him awake. He never was. After about a week, Every now and again, the boy would toss and turn,
But all the father would do was muttering "my fault, all my fault" into his arms. This made Mr Fisher wonder about the story of the attack, about why the wizard felt it was his fault a reckless werewolf attacked his boy, but felt too rude to ask, as the wizard was always close to tears. But as Mr Fisher grew stronger each day, he soon realised he wouldn’t be caught up in this affair for much longer. Then, on the dawn of the 9th day, while the father had gone to the door to smoke his pipe once more,
The boy’s eyes carefully peeled open. Mr Fisher lowered his eyes from his reading slowly, and saw the life in them, realising he was quite a handsome boy, before. The boy glanced around cautiously, and started to whimper as he tried to move. He Glared at Mr Fisher, realising he was in St Mungos for some reason. He started to feel his face, confused about himself, why he was heavily scarred, and tried to get out of bed, failing to. The father
Re-entered, and saw his son was awake. He dropped the pipe, and ran to his bedside. The boy started whispering "what...?" and with that
The father started to cry, and closed the curtains. Mr Fisher thought he shouldn’t listen to this tender moment, and picked up his old newspaper from a week ago. This was a very gentle minute between them, he didn’t want to intrude. After a few hours, some healers entered the ward, one with a book, the title hidden, but with a picture of a werewolf on the cover. They prised open the curtains, entered, and drew them back. Now Mr Fisher could surely hear the conversation and they were speaking very loud. “Now then young boy, there’s been a serious incident including you. And we need straight answers, you here me? Right, on the night of August the 15th, you went missing. We’ve been told you’d gone to map the stars in the wood. Don’t you think it was highly irresponsible!” bellowed on elderly healer at the boy. Mr Fisher thought this was highly irresponsible, as the young boy had just woken up to a mirror full of cuts and scars. At this the father yelled “it’s not his fault!! Its mine, MINE! You don’t know anything, you lot! You don’t know! Get out!!” the healers all left swiftly, looking violated, but none of them carrying the book. 5 minutes past until the curtains-opened. The boy looked more petrified, and the father looked like
He was going to faint. After putting his hands over his eyes, he came to his senses as he picked up the book on the bed, and threw it into the trash bin. The father turned and walked out of the ward, and apparted in one swing of a door. As soon he was gone, the boy leaned down, and picked the book out of the trash, and safely put it in his bed-side cabinet. He looked up and saw Mr Fisher looking, and looked strangely happy. Mr Fisher smiled back kindly, and lowered his eyes once more.

awsome its soooo good!

Last update: 4/16/2008