Luna

It's coming soon. Tonight, even.

I can feel it in my bones. When I was younger, when I still didn't understand, I had to rely on calendars and specific dates. I don't have to anymore. I don't have to look out my window every night to watch the moon. I don't need any help. I just know.

I try to tell myself I'm not scared. I've dealt with it for so many years; I shouldn't be scared. But I am. I'm terrified of the pain, of the danger, of what I am. The only time I ever felt safe was when we--Padfoot, Prongs, Wormtail, and myself--were together. They took care of me. I could let down all the walls I'd built. I didn't have to hide from them.

I accepted long ago that I'll never have that again. What I would give for them all to come back...God, I'd give my soul. You don't find friends like that twice, do you? If only Peter hadn't turned, things would be the same. I took it all for granted; I see that now. And in a way, that makes me deserve what's coming to me.

The pain is starting. It always starts the same, the bones in my hands grinding together as they rearrange. I can feel the tissues ripping apart, the coarse hair slowly sprouting, the nails sharpening.

And then it drops off, only to return even worse.

My teeth are growing now; they tear at my mouth and tongue. The blood drips onto the floor on top of the old, darkened stains of previous months' transformations. It's not the worst of it yet. This is simply the beginning. It only builds as the time passes, as the moon rises higher.

I squint my eyes shut and draw my knees into my chest. It's the only thing that makes the pain more bearable. Sirius had insisted it would help. He always seemed to know these things.

My arms are slowly shifting now, too. I won't watch. I can't watch. I can feel the bones rotating and flipping, detaching at the joints and fusing again in a grotesque mockery of a lupine leg. Maybe that's the saddest part of this whole ordeal. I never transform fully into a wolf. I'm left somewhere in between.

It spreads from my arms to my torso and down to my hips and legs. The sliding bones puncture the skin and leave long gashes. God, it hurts. Nothing hurts this much. Every part of me is crying out. It's like having your insides torn out and thrown back in haphazardly. Just like scattered puzzle pieces. Nothing works properly anymore. This shouldn't happen, I wish it didn't have to happen...someone, please, just stop this...

I feel so weak for crumbling so easily.

Please let this go quickly, I can't take it much longer. Only my neck and head need to change now...just don't let this drag out. The tears are running down my face, the cry rising in my throat. It's awful, my head is pounding; tell me it's ending soon...

A howl. A snarl. Finished. It's over. I don't know what my body is doing now. I feel so detached. I quit feeling things, hearing things. The wolf is taking over, while I'm sinking to the back. I can't leave. I can't do anything but wait while the wolf has free reign. Free reign to do anything to anyone, whether I want it or not. I tell him not to hurt anyone, destroy my body if he has to. Usually he obeys.

A calming peace comes over me. There's nothing more I can do. I should just fall asleep, let the wolf run his course until sunrise. He only has a few hours. The blackness is closing in. Darker, darker, darker...

------

I wake in the morning, surrounded by splatters of stale blood. My own, I realise. There's no one around for miles all the way out here. Looking down at my arms and chest, I see scratches, bite marks, and bruises, all aching as they slowly heal. Some overlap old scars, others reopen old wounds. The sun spills in through the only window in the empty room.

It hurts to stand up. My back wants to hunch over; my body wants me to crouch. Every time, I have to force myself to walk away from the room. I want to fall over and die. I feel ill.

James and Sirius used to carry me back to back to bed, while Peter would walk behind and clean up the wounds. I can't do that all by myself...it takes so much work to just walk to the next room, to collapse on the cot. It's so cold in here.

I don't know if I can do this anymore. I can't go through all of it alone. I know it's only a few days a month, but not a day goes by where I don't wonder about how things could have been. It's selfish, I know. There are so many "what if's" and they're taking over my mind. What if Sirius was James's secret-keeper? What if Peter hadn't betrayed them? What if I could have stopped it all?

Everything that has happened, everything that will happen...I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

And as the moon waxes and wanes, I'll always tell myself the same thing.

I took it all for granted...and in a way, that makes me deserve what's coming to me.