As Remus

As Remus

~*~ 1: The Shadow Chased ~*~

The full moon cast a wicked light, cursing Remus Lupin.

"I want to black out. I want to lose consciousness through this suffering," Remus thought.

His bones ached, shuddering as they morphed. Remus shouted in agony; the shout replaced with a howl as his nose elongated into a snout. His shoulders folded over themselves, hunched forward as he fell onto all fours. Fingers shrank, replaced with heavy paws and razor claws. Coarse fur sprouted, replacing the gentle style and texture of Remus' sandy hair. The eyes, warm with compassion, became cold with a desire to destroy.

Remus' existence was replaced by a beast. Man became monster. Man became a werewolf.

The werewolf, like others of its kind, had an appetite for destruction that could be satisfied with shattering, crushing, and gnawing objects to rubble. The long, moist tongue licked its teeth with hunger. The claws flexed, anticipating the satisfaction of ripping, of tearing, or of shredding.

The werewolf suffered an unquenchable thirst for blood. The thirst for blood could be satisfied with the warm blood of the living. Werewolves never intended to infect others. Infection was a mistake. Werewolves bit with the intention of killing.

Remus had contemplated the bite he had received, wishing intensely that the werewolf had killed him. He respected werewolves in the sense that they preferred killing as opposed to infecting their victims for a lifetime of suffering. It was as though werewolves respected their victims in a ironic, twisted fate. Remus didn't expect he would live long, not the expectancy of wizards, and his misery would end. Death, would be Remus' happily ever after.

The werewolf's cold eyes surveyed the setting. If the creature had been educated it would conclude the setting was a study. Centred around a desk with a rich, deep colour, were piles of books, piles that had accumulated over Remus' lifetime. The walls were hidden behind bookshelves cluttered with parchment, magical artefacts, and more books still.

In a movement so swift it seemed the werewolf had apparated, the destruction commenced. Thick leather book covers, rough with age, were no defence against the werewolf's sabre sharp teeth. In a violent side-to-side movement, the werewolf shook its head, a shower of pages raining from a book.

The glinted, iridescent reflection of glass flashed, attracting the werewolf's attention. Drool hung over the werewolf's mouth, hungering for destruction. It bounded against a bookshelf, bottles and jars crashing to the floor. The werewolf gnawed a mouthful of glass, drool tinted pink with blood.

The werewolf eyed the room maniacally, his look desiring for more destruction. A terrible howl bellowed, the werewolf's appetite for destruction unsatisfied. It snarled and growled as the main course was served; Remus. With lightning quick reflexes, the werewolf clawed at its own hideous face. It bit at its lower hind legs and struggled externally and internally.

Two voices duelled.

"I need to taste blood. I need to scratch and claw."

"It hurts! It hurts! Stop!"

The werewolf was at war with Remus, with himself. But every battle, and the war, would end just the same. The werewolf was, is, and will always be victorious.

The werewolf stopped.

A wand, a stick to the werewolf, sat on the desktop. In a heavy bound, the werewolf jumped, knocking the wand to the debris covered floor. Utilising its front paws to hold it immobile, it eyed the wand, its prey. It clenched its teeth into the wand, feeling a sensation as magic pulsed from the wand's core.

The wand fired.

There was silence. There was no movement.

Consciousness was lost for the werewolf. There was no more clawing and-or biting. No more appetite for destruction.

Consciousness was lost for Remus. He no longer struggled against the werewolf that consumed him, that made him suffer. It was Remus' happily ever after.

He had left the world of the living for a temporary journey through the land of the dead. Remus relived moments that had not been forgotten. Moments that had changed his life and made him the man, not werewolf, that he was.

~*~

"Have a look at that full moon," Remus sighed. He tucked his arms behind his head as he lay on his back, gazing at the endless night sky above. Stars spoke to one another, twinkling messages.

"There are eight phases to the moon which run in a twenty-nine and a half day cycle; new, waxing crescent, first quarter, waxing gibbous, full," Remus' father, a knowledgeable astronomer, said, emphasising 'full' with a deeper tone as he gestured to the sky, "waning gibbous, last quarter, and waning crescent."

"Don't talk about the moon. Let the moon do the talking," Remus' mother said. Remus looked at his mother with gratitude as they star gazed in a clearing amongst a thick tangle of trees

Remus was an energetic child who did not inherit the trait from his reserved parents. His mother and father were skilled thinkers, speaking more within the volumes of their minds than aloud. Remus had a fleeting attention span that craved exploration, conversation, and interaction. Remus' father had once said, "Why this? How that? So many questions, Remus."

Conquering an imbalance of personality traits, the Lupins derived joy in star gazing. There wasn't a father, a mother, and a son, there was a family. There were no wands, only the magic of a full moon and twinkling stars.

"What does the moon say?" Remus asked. He had listened to the moon, but there was only silence. His mother looked at him, with the odd expression that was a blend between annoyance and amusement. Remus saw that look often.

The moon slowly stepped across the sky, time phasing past. Still, the moon was silent.

Ending the mute conversation with the moon, Remus rolled onto his side, examining his dim shadow cast in the moonlight. His shadow was playful, dancing with the slightest movement.

The shadow spoke to Remus, asking him to play a game, a game of chase. Remus would run, and the shadow would chase.

Remus climbed to his feet, watching as his shadow followed behind him, mimicking his every move. He manoeuvred in tight circles and intricate patterns that weave through one another.

The shadow chased.

"He'll sleep like the dead tonight," Remus' father whispered as his wife cuddled against him snugly.

Remus ran with a great rush of speed.

The shadow chased.

Remus left the clearing, manoeuvring into the thick of trees. Remus was clever. The shadow could not follow where the moonlight did not shine. His heavy pants formed in the chilled night air, a white mist of breath.

The shadow chased.

Remus narrowed his eyes, his gaze dripping with curiosity. He stood motionless, concentrating intensely on the shadow. His shadow was disobedient. His shadow did not need the moonlight or Remus' movements to feed it.

Remus was scared. It was not his own shadow that chased, it was the shadow of a creature. There was a glimpse of rigid fur, a glimpse of piercing claws, and a glimpse of lethal teeth.

"Dad! Mum!" Remus screamed. Before he could make any movement to run, the creature attacked. The heavy body of the creature forced Remus to the ground, the claws pinning him.

Remus looked at his fate, his destiny. Remus looked at the creature, a werewolf.

Remus' scream was defeated with the deafening howl of the werewolf. Remus could no longer see the werewolf through the mass of tears glazing his eyes. He could no longer plea for help, the werewolf was crushing him.

It was silent. The werewolf didn't growl, or snarl, or howl. Remus stopped crying.

Remus anticipated, in his bones, the movement of the werewolf. He opened his mouth to wail a scream as the werewolf's teeth pierced through Remus' flesh, meeting the bone.

Remus began a lifetime of suffering. The pain was so intense, Remus couldn't see. His scream was muted with agony. His shoulder was warm, heated with his own blood, the blood that dripped from the werewolf's teeth.

"Help," he croaked in a pleading whisper. The werewolf climbed off of Remus, strategically positioning itself for a kill.

There was no help. Remus had already transformed as a person. He lost his soul to the werewolf, to the werewolf that circled him, murderously eyeing his inviting throat.

Remus' life was over. His life was ending without a career in Astronomy that made his father proud or a wife who was as beautiful as his mother. Remus would never grant the wish of his parents that he have a son just like him. There were so few memories.

Despite regrets, Remus wanted to die.

Life or death, it was an ending.

~*~