Professor Dumbledore had insisted that he came to Hogwarts for his transformation, the events of the past month were so similar to those almost fifteen years ago, that Remus didn’t even argue. He didn’t want to risk anyone’s life normally, but the Wolf would not be willing to accept the loss of the last member of his pack, his motley, mismatched, mischievous pack.

Remus absolutely refused to go to the Shrieking Shack, for there were too many memories and smells that would simply drive him nuts. They settled on a nice, secluded spot deep in the Forbidden Forest. That is how Remus came to be laying on his back, on a pile of leaves staring up at the sky, waiting for the torture and pain to come. He knew it would come.

Dumbledore had placed spells and wards to keep out the other animals of the forest, and then Remus could also roam the area to his hearts content and Dumbledore would have an easier time finding him in the morning.

The trees were too thick for Remus to see the stars, but he knew that Sirius would be shining brightly tonight. And the real Sirius would be watching from wherever with James.

At least, some of his crazy pack would be together tonight, Remus though. The moon will start its final pull in a few minutes. I should get ready for it.

Shifting, Remus got into a more comfortable position. He also stripped off a few layers, and placed them in a bush. Hopefully he would be able to be near here when he transformed back.

As the moon pulled, the pain started. His limbs started to shake and then his body contorted and lengthened. Every hair that sprouted was like a tiny pinprick all over his skin. Against the pain, he curled and as his hands met the ground they became paws; paws with claws made for ripping flesh. Finally, it all stopped.

The wolf was free. Recognizing the surroundings, the wolf started sniffing for his pack mate. Somehow he didn’t fully register right away that the one closest to him in shape and demeanor was gone. Dead, lost; the words formed in the tiny part that was Remus. These were words the wolf had heard before, knew the meaning of. He lifted his head and let out a long, lonesome howl. At Hagrid’s hut, Fang heard the noise and mourned with the wolf.

Starting to pace, the wolf soon knew how far he could roam. The trees are hardly noticed as he races past them. There is nothing that can stop his search, the loss that he feels. A hole starts to grow in his heart. It is in a place that is shared by the wolf and Remus. He raced from one end to the other, welcoming the pain of bashing into the wards that Dumbledore had set. The smell of a human was faint in two spots, and he kept racing to them.

Every now and then, he would stop and sniff. Hoping for the smell of a stag coming to keep him company, or a dog coming to wrestle and play; or just maybe a rat, that would make a good meal. Lots of rat to munch on, they could be swallowed in one bite. Once when the wind shifted, he caught the smell of Grawp, but that was of no interest to the wolf.

He craved human meat, but would settle for a rat. There was nothing to eat; all the other animals were far from the place where evil played.

As the loneliness settled over the wolf, he sat down and just howled at the moon. Between a tree and a bush, one mahogany and the other dogwood.

Over and over, he mourned the loss of Prongs, the stag that had been always ready for adventure. He mourned for the loss of Prongs’ mate, who would be waiting up ready to tend wounds after a night of adventure. Somehow he managed to mourn the loss of Wormtail’s innocence, the friend that had betrayed his pack, it was the highest crime that was paid for by death. Then he mourned the loss of Padfoot, his brother, and his mate. The one who would howl with him on the few nights that Prongs had been unable to come with them. Padfoot had come back, after all those years of not being there. Then in a few seconds, he too had been taken away, forever.

He wouldn’t come back; the wolf would never see his beloved pack member again. All night long he howled at the moon and stars. It was the wolf’s only way of mourning.

When the moon started to release him, the wolf knew that something had been lost to him that night. A part of him had died, like his pack mates. Never again would he be whole, even the moon couldn’t make him feel whole again.

Even in the early morning light, the trees were as dark and unwelcoming as they had been during the night. Yet even they would not tell of the wolf that lost something in him that night. 

As he lay curled into a tight ball, Remus wept. He wept for the loss of James, Lily, Peter, and the still fresh memory of Sirius. The only thing he remembered from this transformation, and would always remember, was that somehow part of the wolf was dead. Something in his heart was gone.