hogwarts AU with werewolf Feuilly? yes. okay. it’s very angsty and not very shippy. Sorry.
The morning after a full moon always felt like the continuation of the nightmare of the past day rather than a break from it. As if he wasn’t quite awake yet, not quite human-shaped again. Even if, in the last two years, Feuilly had usually found himself on a plush mattress, his head propped on a pillow, fresh sheet around his body, he was always sore, bruised, an so hurt and detached from his body it was as if he’d woken up in someone else’s bones.
It wasn’t far from the truth. His body had been broken down into pieces and rebuilt into something else’s, and even though, afterwards, when the worst was over, he looked more or less like the boy that he had been before, his body wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be. It could never be again.
Chocking on a sob that bubbled in his (his) throat, Feuilly took a deep breath – or attempted to.
A sharp, stabbing pain to his chest brought tears to his eyes and down his cheeks.
“You have broken ribs,” a deep, soft voice floated through the agony. Enjolras. “Take it easy. We bandaged them but they’re not fixed yet.”
Feuilly became aware of a cold cloth on his forehead; he reached out an arm that didn’t-quite-feel-like-his to touch it, but the pain once again spiked, and he cried out.
“Take it easy,” Enjolras repeated. Feuilly focused on his voice, the perfectly formed vowels of his southern accent. “Valjean had to stay at the school overnight so Cosette has gone to find a healer. I’m – sorry. You were hurt more than usu- than we anticipated.”
“What happened?” He said as the spasms receeded. Even though the day was overcast as it usually was in Scotland this time of the year, Feuilly didn’t have the strength to open his eyes yet, the light in the room too brutal.
He heard Enjolras take a small breath, and Feuilly was thankful – Enjolras valued honesty and truth immensely, and his warmth was almost reassuring. His voice was compassionate, but never pitying.
“We don’t know. We found you a little further than usual this morning. It looked like you had a rough night.”
The euphemism would have made Feuilly laugh, if he could.
“Yeah,” he swallowed. He tasted blood at the back of his throat. “I don’t… I don’t remember any of it.”
The voice that came out between his lips sounded so small, so raspy. It didn’t belong to him, it didn’t.
“I know,” Enjolras said. He took Feuilly’s hand – the one place Feuilly didn’t feel bruised and sore and raw – and squeezed it gently.
Enjolras didn’t care much for empty words, so he said nothing. For five, ten, fifteen minutes – or seconds. Time slowed down when you were in so much pain, but it gave Feuilly enough time to tentatively breathe again. Inhale, exhale. The bandaged around his broken ribs were tight. Inhale, exhale. His head swam. He couldn’t remember anything. Enjolras’ hand was cool around his. Feuilly’s body had never ran hot before; was this new? Or did he have a fever? What else had irreparably changed?
He couldn’t remember anything. Had he hurt someone else? Was this why this morning was so different?
“Would it help,” Enjolras began tentatively, and finally blinking, Feuilly saw him bite his lip, face drawn and pale, as if he hadn’t slept. “If I told you it wasn’t you? Whatever happened, whatever might happen- ” and once again, Feuilly appreciated Enjolras’ honesty, his clear vision, knowing how useless it was to pretend the risk of Feuilly hurting someone wasn’t terrifyingly real. “It’s not you.”
Feuilly swallowed again, the taste of blood making him nauseous and dizzy.
It wasn’t him. He could move his toes, could open his eyes and see his friend sitting beside him, feel the broken ribs and the bruises and the cuts.
But it wasn’t his body anymore.
What did that make him?
“No,” he whispered. “It doesn’t help. I know it sounds good but. Sorry. It doesn’t help.”
Enjolras nodded gravely. Maybe Feuilly would share with him someday, even if he didn’t fully understand – and Feuilly wished Enjolras never understood. Maybe someday, he would find the words to explain, the energy, the strength.
But for now, he focused on Enjolras’ hand around his, and tried to sleep until Cosette arrived with the healer.
Tag: ve’s hogwarts au
hp sorting thing: valjean and javert?
Valjean is totally a Hufflepuff (also in my AU he’s a sort of groundkeeper/probably like – Care of Magical Creatures teacher? but he 100% graduated from Hufflepuff.
… and I’d put Javert… idk. Ravenclaw maybe? Or Slytherin? I’m not sure, ah.
OH GOSH. VALJEAN IS SUCH A HAGRID-TYPE, YES. *_* I really like this. ^_^ He’s just gentle and kind and all the kids come to him for advice and comforts and tea and to feel safe. (Because dude, he’s HUGE and STRONG, yet so gentle and so protective of all the little ones, why wouldn’t you feel safe, you know? :D) And it’s so so SO good for Feuilly to have him right on the grounds, because then he never has to truly leave his adopted family.
VE, I LIKE THIS A LOT. ^__________^
EXACTLY! and like. If he’s a teacher he doesn’t live in the cottage – he has an office on the grounds – like, they wanted him to but it was important for him to just. Have his house with Cosette and keep it, you know? And like Hagrid, Hogwarts wasn’t always good to him – not when he was in prison, not when he was running – but the school has changed and Valjean just cares so much about the kids and what they represent and the kids love him and he’s a wonderful teacher and caretaker.
and right! like. when Feuilly arrives at Hogwarts after being bitten Valjean starts staying in his office during the full moon, keeping an eye on him and bringing him back inside afterwards, etc. and Feuilly doesn’t really realise (because nobody’s ever looked out for him like that, right, and he’s unconscious most of the time anyway), but Valjean’s been looking for him and it’s such a good ;3;
Valjean is so good
YES. I love this SO MUCH. SO MUCH. *chinhands* ^__________^
And this would be a perfect opportunity for the “Valjean ‘adopts’ all of Les Amis and so they adopt him, too’ headcanon. AAAAAHHH, VE I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS ABOUT THIS AND I WASN’T EXPECTING TO. TT^TT ^______^ TT^TT
hp sorting thing: valjean and javert?
Valjean is totally a Hufflepuff (also in my AU he’s a sort of groundkeeper/probably like – Care of Magical Creatures teacher? but he 100% graduated from Hufflepuff.
… and I’d put Javert… idk. Ravenclaw maybe? Or Slytherin? I’m not sure, ah.
OH GOSH. VALJEAN IS SUCH A HAGRID-TYPE, YES. *_* I really like this. ^_^ He’s just gentle and kind and all the kids come to him for advice and comforts and tea and to feel safe. (Because dude, he’s HUGE and STRONG, yet so gentle and so protective of all the little ones, why wouldn’t you feel safe, you know? :D) And it’s so so SO good for Feuilly to have him right on the grounds, because then he never has to truly leave his adopted family.
VE, I LIKE THIS A LOT. ^__________^
Christmas is going to be on a full moon this year and I’m Sad About Werewolf Feuilly
oh nooo. I’m going to have to try and fix this.
—
Feuilly wakes up long after the sun has risen. The first thing he’s aware of is of how bright the room is, even behind his closed eyelids; he feels more tired than he has been in, well, a month, and he’s cold, so cold. He may look human – no, be human – every other night of the month, it still takes his body a few days to adjust back to its human state, every time.
(He once read about a theory, that the werewolf’s human body was only a disguise that the, the monster’s real body, the wolf, was its natural state, always fighting the weaker human until it won. Intellectually, Feuilly knew it couldn’t be true, knew this was written bigoted human. But at that time, it explained why the wolf had the energy to destroy and hurt him every month, mere moments after the transformation had ended, while Feuilly felt ill and weak for an entire week afterwards, unable to do very much at all.)
The second thing Feuilly is aware of is of a soft hand running through his hair, fingernails gently scratching the skin behind his ears. Almost simultaneously, a third element comes to his senses: the distant smell of coffee and fresh pastries.
“Good morning, love,” a smooth voice is saying, and the warmth spreads to Feuilly’s bones.
He forces his eyes to open and meet familiar dark brown ones.
“Hey,” he croaks out. Then he remembers the day – “Merry Christmas, Cosette.”
His foster sister’s answering smile is brighter than the winter sun outside; it doesn’t have the strained, heartbreaking quality it does, sometimes, the kind of smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and that’s how Feuilly realises he isn’t very badly injured, only sore and exhausted.
It was a good night; he was lucky. Long winter nights are usually the worst, but not this time. A Christmas miracle, maybe.
“Merry Christmas to you too,” Cosette says, still smiling. “It’s a little past 10, papa went out to get you at 7. Do you want to sleep more?”
She doesn’t ask how he’s feeling; she knows there’s no good answer, and Feuilly hates answering that question. Some of his friends still ask, not quite sure how know to approach him after a full moon. He can’t blame them, really. He wouldn’t know what to do in their place either – he barely knows what to do with himself, and it’s been his life for nearly 7 years now. But Cosette? She knows what to do. She knows how to talk to him, to hold his hand when he can’t reply. Even when she was so young, and he was barely older, a frightened, lonely boy, she was there. She was never scared of making a mistakes, and
He appreciate her more than he’ll ever be able to say. Maybe he should try, though. After all, it’s Christmas.
“I -” Go downstairs to your father, he wants to say. You should spend the rest of the day with him, not looking after me. It’s Christmas. I’ll be fine.
But the smell of coffee and breakfast food has fully reached the room, now, and even though Feuilly isn’t very hungry – won’t be until tomorrow, at the very soonest – it smells warm and good, and he actually does feel fine. The world isn’t swirling around him, and he doesn’t feel so weak he couldn’t drink a cup of coffee or have a light conversation. If Feuilly knows him well – and after so many years, Feuilly likes to think he does – Valjean is probably in the kitchen, wearing that apron Cosette gave him a few years ago – “Magic happens in papa’s kitchen” – and he might be playing Christmas carols on the old fashion muggle radio.
“I’m okay to go downstairs, I think,” Feuilly says eventually, forcing his lips to turn upward in a smile as he sits up – slowly, gingerly, used to feeling like every bone in his body feels like it’ll break at the first sudden movement. “If, uh.”
“Here,” Cosette puts a hand to his back and takes his hand and helps him get out of bed. She helps him put on a sweater, too, and the soft plushy fabric soothes his oversensitive nerves. When he turns to thank her, Feuilly notices her cheeks are flushed and she still hasn’t stopped smiling.
“What is it?” he asks, and Cosette shakes her head, curls bouncing around her face. She is a terrible liar, and even worse at hiding how she feels. Feuilly raises an eyebrow.
“It’s supposed to be a surprise,” she bites her lip. “But, uh. There’s someone waiting downstairs for you. Actually, several someones.”
It takes Feuilly a moment to comprehend what his foster sister is saying. When he does, his eyes grow wide.
“It was means to be a surprise! A Christmas surprise,” Cosette laughs a little. “So can you act surprised, please? Oh, Bahorel would probably kill me if he thought I ruined it…”
Bahorel. And some of the others, too, if he understood right.
Cosette must have taken his shocked silence for apprehension, because she takes his hand again.
“It’s alright if you’re not feeling up to it,” she says, more seriously this time. “They’ll understand. Papa’s made enough food to feed everyone anyway, that should appease them until you’re alright to come down.”
“Everyone? Everyone’s here?”
Cosette nods. “Grantaire suggested it, actually, earlier this fall when he saw the full moon was on Christmas this year. And everyone got into it, and of course, Papa agreed…”
“I’m alright to go downstairs,” Feuilly says quickly, “but, uh,” he blinks, tears already gathering at the corner of his eyes. “Why aren’t they with their families?”
Cosette wraps her arm around his shoulders.
“We are family, Feuilly,” and this time, he doesn’t care about stopping the tear that runs down his bruised cheek. “Merry Christmas.”
eirenical17 