A Shell Forgotten

A Shell Forgotten

Remus Lupin sighed and limped up the uneven stairs, shrugging on his threadbare robes. Finally, the moon was waning. A brief respite of sorts. Another month of dreading and waiting. Another month of wondering how to live. He half collapsed on the one chair in the dilapidated kitchen and turned on his Muggle radio. Background sounds made him feel less alone in the empty house. Shack, the back of his mind corrected. Besides, he had to give them credit, most Muggles listened to better music than most magic folk.

With a flick of his wand he made himself dry toast. And as an afterthought, a mug of tea and honey to soothe his throat. He sipped it slowly, casting a cooling charm on the boiling liquid. Remus put the mug down with a bang, quickly explaining the chipped state of his crockery. He stretched out his bare legs, studying the spider web of pale scars and the new gashes with their rivers of blood. Mornings after turning back to his human form were the worst. No dark magic protected him from the pain he inflicted on himself, as it did while he was in wolf form. So the pain was all his own. Remus looked up from his wounds and watched the sunrise sadly, for too many years it had been the only thing to greet him in the morning. A taunting image of false hope.

Wish I was too dead to cry
My self-affliction fades
Stones to throw at my creator
Masochists to which I cater

Golden sunlight poured in though the window, but it failed to lighten his mood. He was convinced morning was for brooding. Morning, for mourning...appropriate, no?

Years had not dimmed his memory, he still held on to every precious moment he had of his friends. They were the only possessions he valued. His blood-crusted hands skimmed over his face and through grey-flecked hair, leaving behind the rusty marks of invisible chains. He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out every particle of light. He dropped his tired head onto crossed arms and cried into his carefully darned robe.

Transforming had been so much easier with them. It became a game. The prelude to running loose and free, challenging the ordered world in well meant mischief. Well, most of the time it was well meant...

That first night they had explored the grounds tentatively, almost gently, like lovers unsure of just how far they could go. It had been a beautiful night, cool and clear, with the full moon and stars shining on a lawn coated in crystalline frost. Even Remus could enjoy the beauty of the moon, that night it changed into a pearl wreathed in chilled air, rather than the fiercely pale face he normally saw leering down on him.

It had been a world illuminated in silver, crisp and pure. And all theirs. A play-world made for their delight.

And that morning he first changed back whole. No angry bites, no scratches, no blood.

A lifetime ago.

You don't need to bother;
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on,
I won't let go 'til it bleeds

With a snarl of self-disgust he shook away the cobwebs of the past. He cast a healing spell with a brusque flick of the wand. Unfortunately, for all his talents, he only knew a few meager healing spells. But the gashes closed with geologic slowness as the blood thickened to a seeping brownish lava. Honey on the wounds and a layer of gauze finished his self-ministrations.

He waved his leg ruefully. A small tail of white cloth flapped. Great, I go from Werewolf to Mummy. Always a monster. He tucked in the loose flap of gauze and stood up, testing his spells and bandages.

Remus pushed down with each leg in turn. A grimly gratifying burst of pain greeted him both times.

Wish I was too dead to care
If indeed I cared at all

He heard a faint tapping on the window. He walked over to open the window and let the tiny barn owl in. It dropped a letter on the table and hooted insistently. Rummaging through two drawers of odds and ends he found scissors, a picture frame, bent silverware, and finally a few coins and gave them to the owl. The frame he left on the counter. I really need to organize these drawers someday... The owl flew away and he was left alone again.

Remus gingerly picked up the envelope, it was thin. Not a good sign. He opened it with all the enthusiasm of a child opening a howler. A feral growl escaped his throat as he read it. The sound of a kicked stray. What a surprise. Thank you, but we have filled all the positions with safe non-monsters already, or will make do without... Anything we have to do to not hire you. "Bastards." The harshness of his own voice stunned him. He sounded so bitter. And when did he get so old?

Never had a voice to protest
So you fed me shit to digest

Remus continued to read the note, soaking all the platitudes and lies. He was morbidly amused by how no one would admit to their reasons for denying him a position. It was like that line 'thank you but I have a prior engagement which I will make subsequently.' More of an insult because it prevaricated before kicking you in the ass, as opposed to just getting it over with. In another uncharacteristic burst of violence he snarled "incendio," and watched the offending parchment burn into nothingness. It didn't make him feel better.

I wish I had a reason;
my flaws are open season
For this, I gave up trying
One good turn deserves my dying

He took a deep breath, straightening his back proudly, before exhaling and letting his shoulders slump. I am smart, I am talented, I am a good person, he mentally stressed the person part, so why the hell doesn't anyone want me?

Knowing the answer did not make it easier to accept. People are ignorant. You can't entirely blame them. He sighed, a slow and ragged exhalation. But it isn't like I chose this. He fell back into the chair, wincing as it squealed while sliding back from under his weight. Punished for trying to help. Someday I should learn my lesson. Such is my life.

Remus had always been a small child. And a lonely one. He loved nothing more than the woods around his house, and the animals in it. Especially the antics of the squirrels. One afternoon while following a crow, he had found a nest of baby mice exposed to the elements. He suddenly chased away the big black scavenger with a snarl.

The mice were so small, and sweet looking, nestled among crumbled leaves and dry grass. It was getting dark, and cold. And they had barely any fur. He could see their pinkish skin, even the veins pulsing blue underneath it. How could they survive the frost? He sat before them, thinking as hard as he could. He could cover them up and hope their mommy was alive. Or he could take them home. To his mommy. His pale face lit up with the idea of raising them himself. He really wanted a puppy, but mice would be good too. He began to scrounge on the forest floor, looking for sticks, something he could use to lift the nest. He barely noticed the darkness wrapping itself around the forest, or the swollen moon rising on its tide. It only told him he was running out of time.

Reaching for a smooth, perfectly forked branch he saw them. Yellow eyes. He leaned forward, and saw a sallow version of himself reflected back in those huge eyes. Everything forgotten, his carefully made carrier, the mice themselves, he ran. As fast as his little legs and desperation could carry him.

A howl followed him, carried on angry paws. Pain in his back. And his sides. Deep and stabbing. Drenched in the warm, sweet, musty smell of his own blood, he collapsed.

He didn't remember much of the next few days. A blessing, probably. He remembered waking up in his own bed, very sore, and asking his father about the mice. His father started to yell. His mother began to cry. His mother and father had been so angry with him for staying out late, for being foolish. He had cried and cried for making them angry. For making his mother cry. He hadn't understood yet. But as soon as he felt better he went back to the woods, this time in bright sunlight and with his mother holding his hand tightly.

He looked for the mice. He remembered where the nest was perfectly. It wasn't there. Only faint rusty stains remaining on the ground from his own blood, some of it by where the nest had been.

Little Remus Lupin cried himself to sleep that night.

Wish I'd died instead of lived
A zombie hides my face
Shell forgotten
with its memories

He picked up the brushed metal frame. Silver-colored, but not silver. Lily had given it to him one Christmas, declaring it 'simple and elegant, like you.' He smiled wanly at the memory. He looked at the photograph it contained, a candid shot of James, Sirius, Peter, and himself. All with goofy grins on their faces, all waving happily. He wanted to rip into that happy little mirage and interrogate Peter. Or to eat him. He resisted, instead shaking it, hoping to change those manic smiles. But they didn't change. Didn't even have the decency to look queasy. Something slid out of the back of the frame and fluttered onto the table like a dying moth. It resembled an oval of yellowed parchment, oddly enough tinted a very pale blue. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. He touched the dried rose petal softly, almost stroking it. With the utmost care he picked it up and slid it back in the frame.

The past was not enough to keep him alive. Memories could provide a strong foundation, but they were not a proper home. Only his obligations remained. To protect those he cared about. Every student he had taught in his one year at Hogwarts. To help avenge James and Lily. It was enough to keep him, for now.

And you don't need to bother;
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on,
I won't let go 'til it bleeds.