This Is My World, Where Is Yours

This Is My World, Where Is Yours?

"Mum? Dad?"

From behind the locked door he thinks he hears a choked sob but the door still doesn't open.

Outside the moon spins against the bright starry night sky, and it's beautiful, savage, waiting to claim a newfound victim. Faster and faster it spins and inside the shed, the boy's eyes are rolling too, the whites showing blind terror, heart beginning to pump with blood of an unknown quantity.

Hell is being six years old and wondering why you're alone in the dark and no one else has come down yet. It's the sound of your own breathing...the screams like a thousand nails...the hammering, throttling noises.

Fragile skin is ripped apart by moonlight fingers, the unveiling of distorted contours and twisted sinews, of rotting flesh and years and years to come of unwanted, unneeded scars. Innocence looses itself in the rampage as the child flies from wall to wall, grinded in between and betwixt, broken as only a wolf can break and be broke.

Hell is that shallow breathing trance you slip into, the silence that goes on and on until it's grown outside you and fallen on the world.

An elongated howl breaks the silence of the night.

Hell. It's only you left and you're awake.

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He can hear them from where he sits on the bed, spindly legs folded beneath his weightless body. He can hear them, the rush of their feet along gravel, the greed of their chants, the anticipation in harsh, shallow breaths.

Kill him! Kill him! Save the village, your families! Let the children play safely again!

"Remus!" His mother appears at his bedroom door, breathless. "Darling, are you ready?"

The battered suitcase handle fits too easily into his hand.

"Yes mother, I'm ready," he replies, raspy voiced, too old for a child.

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They stand in front of the cottage that's peeling with white paint. The door sits crooked and forlorn on it hinges, the windows are boarded, and the air around them holds it breath.

Nearby, skeletal children play on desiccated lawns, watch them out of lipid eyes.

"Here we are," says his father with an attempt at optimism. "A new start, a new beginning."

Remus says nothing.

There are only so many times you can start again without dying a little.

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"Hello there! I'm Eva Snape, your next door neighbour, and I want to welcome you to the neighbourhood."

Remus stares at the large, noisy woman, shies away a little from the brightness of her smile.

"Hello," his mother replies, drawing Remus cautiously to her side.

"What a lovely child! Sevvie dear, look, a new playmate!" She moves aside to reveal a sullen face framed by black locks.

Remus regards him warily. The other boy only scowls.

"What's wrong with you?" the other boy asks later when they're left alone to play.

"What do you mean?" Remus doesn't mean to be defensive but he's tired of new beginnings.

"There's something different about you. You're not like any other kid here."

"Yes, I am," says Remus quietly.

"No," says the boy thoughtfully, gazing at him through narrowed eyes. "No, you're special."

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"You feeling better?" Severus sounds a little short but Remus smiles a secret because the fact that he came means something.

"Much, thank you" he replies.

"Well, you still look terrible."

Remus doesn't need to be told that.

"Yeah, well. Damn stairs to the basement. Fallen down them three times this year already."

"Reckon. Full moon must blind you each time huh?"

The long fingers smoothing cotton sheets turn pale. Remus flails inwardly, tries to regain his thoughts but fails, instead opens his mouth to say something, anything-

-but then Severus lifts his head and looks at him, really looks at him with unadulterated black eyes and Remus feels the last shred of his dignity dissipating.

"It's alright," Severus says strongly. "I won't tell anyone."

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"Lolly?" Severus offers.

"Thanks." Remus gestures towards his collection of literature. "Book?"

"No thanks."

Severus' reply comes so rapidly, so automatically that it leaves Remus in helpless giggles on the bed, hair splayed in every direction like a careworn angel. Severus allows a shy, awkward smile.

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"What are you going to be when you grow up?" Remus wants to know.

Severus shrugs. "Old."

Sadness taints Remus' upturn lips. "I'm already old."

Severus rests his head against Remus' shoulder, an action so comforting in its rarity.

"Well then, just wait for me."

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Next door is blazing with slurred vulgarities and Remus watches impassively from his window, only stirs when a moving mass of raw skin and dark hair tears from the front door and disappears down the fading street.

Later he finds him in the old playground, sitting on a swing with incensed eyes.

"I hate him," he spits, blood running furious from a slashed lip. "I hate him so much and I hope he dies, the bastard, hope he dies and rots in bleeding Mary's chamber."

The weeping child could not be heard.

Remus stays with him that night and they watch the crescent sliver of moon rise.

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"Did you get your letter yet?"

Remus shakes his head, reads the same sentence again. "No."

"You will," says Severus.

Remus is afraid to cry because the pages of his book are yellow, old and too fragile.

"No one wants a werewolf in a school," he blurts out, and then is ashamed of himself. He tries to focus on that sentence again. "Bad for business you know. All the dead bodies."

"Hogwarts will accept you," insists Severus. "They have to."

"Why should they?"

There a pause, a silence and Remus still doesn't get this damn sentence. Then:

"Because I won't go if you don't."

Remus turns to look at Severus but he's looking the other way, his knees drawn to his chest, head resting on thin arms.

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The kitchen is a blaze of happiness, breakfast cold and forgotten on the table. Remus sits there with the thick yellow parchment in front of him, welcome and new hope etched on it with emerald green ink. He watches with large copper-shocked eyes as his parents leap around the room, shrieking their delight.

Somewhere behind him, the back door unlatches.

Remus swings around quickly and when he smiles, an almost-shy smile quirking on the sides of his mouth, Severus lets loose a guttural scream.

The four of them dance their way into oblivion on the tattered linoleum of the kitchen floor.

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"Take care darling, make sure you write to us. If anything- " his mother chokes a little. "If anything happens, owl express us. We'll be there as soon as possible."

He lets her kiss him on the forehead, gentle, soft, desperate. His father stands besides her, tall and unsteady.

Severus is waiting for him.

"Are you ready?" he whispers, his voice strained to hide the fear.

Remus nods and hand in hand they board the train.

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"GRYFFINDOR!" roars the hat.

No!

Remus climbs off the stool uncertainly, searches through the sea of cheering faces in front of him.

Severus stares back, just as bewildered, and Remus shakes his head, an uncoordinated, spastic movement but he can't fight the gentle tide of hands pushing him towards the table of gold and red.

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"James Potter."

"Sirius Black."

"Peter Pettigrew."

Remus clears his throat timidly, and ventures his own name. "Remus Lupin."

"I guess we're in this dorm together then," says James Potter, grinning all over his too good-looking face. "I bags the bed next to Sirius."

Later Remus catches a strip of James' and Sirius' conversation:

"Slytherins are a filthy lot as always."

"Aw, come on, Sirius. You don't even know them yet."

"I know my family. Isn't that enough?"

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Remus catches a glimpse of long mussed hair, pallid skin and old familiarity. He raises his arm but at that moment Sirius Black runs by and grabs him by the waist.

"Come on, Lupin! James reckons he can take us alone in a snowball fight! That prancing daisy had better be prepared against our almighty skill!"

Remus hesitates, but allows himself to be swept away.

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There are stifled laughs as a folded piece of parchment exchanges hands, making its way around the class.

Someone dares to leave it on Severus's workbench.

He opens it and embarrassment declares itself on his cheeks. Furious, he crumples it and reduces it to nothing but cinders with his wand but that doesn't stop the laughter and Sirius Black's malicious stare.

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Remus watches Sirius unwrap the birthday present and his fingers twitch as he waits.

Sirius looks up at him, unfairly handsome, and smiles his brilliant smile. It's genuine and honest and Sirius doesn't often smile like that except around James.

Remus feels warm inside.

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Laughter is a rare thing to poor Remus' ears so he's drowning now in his friends' cackles.

"Shut up, James! If McGonagall comes along, we're dead."

"McGoogles loves me," declares James and hiccups.

The empty bottles of Butterbeer twinkle mischievously against the shadows of candlelight.

Remus relaxes besides Sirius and his unpracticed laugh learns to blend with the others.

Severus Snape stares up at the slender moonbeams dancing across his bed hangings and does not sleep.

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A large crowd is accumulating because it's Sirius Black versus Severus Snape. No one really likes Snape. He's too quiet, too smart, too skinny, too greasy, and a Slytherin besides.

"Wash that foul mouth out, Snape."

There's a sudden smell of Minoll's Finest Strawberry Bath Gel and soapy bubbles are leaking from the sides of Snape's mouth. The crowd cheers.

"What's going on?" Remus cries as he struggles weakly to the front.

Snape reaches his hand out, bones stretched taut against white, white skin.

"Don't talk to Remus!" roars Sirius furiously. "God, his name sounds dirty when you say it Snivellus!"

Somehow that's funny, everyone thinks. Remus hesitates.

Snape pleads but Remus is gone, long pale limbs and dusty hair fading into the crowd.

Snape falls on his knees and begins to choke on the froth.

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Snape sits on the dark side of the moon and holds himself. Sharp elbows and knees jut into his stomach and he folds himself tighter so they dig deeper and it hurts less.

To save your world you asked this man to die...

Some nights he can hear the crickets and the owls. Tonight there is nothing, not even the wolf.

Snape can feel something inside him turning stale and brittle.

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"Snivellus called for you," says Sirius. James and Peter pause to listen.

Remus tries to count the stars, avoiding Sirius' intense, questioning gaze. The grass tickles a little beneath his head.

"Yeah."

"That was weird."

"Yeah."

"You weren't friends with him before, were you? Cause that's vile."

Soft warmth breezes its way over the four boys, flutters down the grace of Remus' nose. He closes his eyes.

"No, I wasn't."

...would this man, could he see you now, ask why?

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James has been trying to warn Sirius for days but Sirius doesn't seem to care.

"Aw nah. He'll just get a bit of a scare, that's all," replies Sirius and laughs a little. Neither James nor Peter laughs along with him.

"Why do you want to do this, Pads? Why is it so important?" James wants to know.

Sirius turns away from them. Black eyes turn grey.

"Because Moony's mine, James. He's mine now and Snivellus can't have him back. He just can't."

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Snape walks down the tunnel, his wand lit and leading, his footsteps soft.

He only wants something quiet tonight, something secret and silent, wants to see Remus alone for once without all his new friends because Snape can't bear the sight of Sirius Black or James Potter or even that stupid, insipid fool Pettigrew anymore. Something in him hopes still, even after all these broken years.

The moon is nearly up he knows. He hurries.

The door looms ahead and Snape begins to sweat with heavy anticipation.

-and suddenly James Potter is there, yelling for Snape to run as he pushes back hard against the door, pushes against teeth and claws and fur, against the wolf snarling for the taste of blood and somewhere someone is screaming.

James slams the door shut and is hurriedly replacing the bar but on the other side saliva drips from the wolf's teeth, pouring over the corners of its mouth, bubbling, boiling, dripping thick, rancid on the wooden floor.

The door cracks.

James pulls Snape to his feet and drags him back up the earthen corridor and as they run, Snape realizes the screaming has started again and that it's his voice that's shrill with terror and humiliation.

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The forest is held up with breathless silence and the moon is glaring with the reflection of the sun.

The wolf ravages through the meager undergrowth, rusty claws tearing apart delicate foliage. It lifts its nose to sniff the danger of the wind, drinks it in and its pupils grow large with hunger. It's waited for so long and it can't wait any longer. Tonight it must have blood. Tonight it must taste the roughness of flesh, and it doesn't matter where it comes from.

From the wolf's throat rips the tight, coarse melody of want and hunt and then it's gone, hair and fur burning in the heat of the night.

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No one tells Remus the next day and he can't understand why he woke up in the forest alone with four deers dead around him, or why Snape is unable to answer Professor McGonagall's question because he's lost his voice.

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Remus is rumpled and happy when he steps off the train, energized from a summer of Quidditch and pranks and boyhood dreams.

He falters when someone he knew nears.

"Severus," he whispers.

But Snape only stares at him sullenly out of bruised, smoldering eyes, stares down at him from a nose too recently broken and keeps on walking.

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The big wizard hat sits too floppily on his head, the robes are too uncomfortable on bony angles. Remus shifts in the hollow between his parents and smiles uncertainly. Sirius, James and Peter run by at the last moment, pulling faces, and they're all laughing in the photo.

Dumbledore lifts his goblet and they all drink.

"To us, the future," echoes Remus.

Confetti and fireworks explode in the Great Hall and everyone's smiling, one good moment in dark times.

Severus Snape seams himself into the shadows, allows himself into their gentler caresses.

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I've been watching your world from afar

I've been trying to be where you are

And I've been secretly falling apart

Unseen.

It takes only a second, only a moment to burn and Snape as he feels the black, the dark, the want and need seeping into him.

He dares himself to look up and is met with red eyes, snake like.

Face unreadable, Snape takes his place in the circle and listens to the hiss that breaks through the frail air.

Sometimes, the last thing you want comes in first

Sometimes, the first thing you want never comes

I know, the waiting is all you can do

Sometimes.

Hell is being six years old and wondering why you're alone in the dark and no one else has come down yet. It's the sound of your own breathing...the screams like a thousand nails...the hammering, throttling noises. / Hell is that shallow breathing trance you slip into, the silence that goes on and on until it's grown outside you and fallen on the world. / Hell. It's only you left and you're awake. - Cloudstreet (Tim Winton)

The weeping child could not be heard. - Sorry, can't remember the poem. (William Blake)

To save your world you asked this man to die... / ...would this man, could he see you now, ask why? - (W.H. Auden)

I've been watching your world from afar

I've been trying to be where you are

And I've been secretly falling apart

Unseen. /

Sometimes, the last thing you want comes in first

Sometimes, the first thing you want never comes

I know, the waiting is all you can do

Sometimes. Strange and Beautiful (Aqualung)

Phrase: Prancing daisy - I believe is from anniesj's amazingly HAWT 'Slackened Ties'.

Title: This Is My World, Where Is Yours - taken from the Manic Street Preachers, and also hackthis's awesomely tragic fic 'This Is My Truth, Tell Me Yours'.