Full Moon

Three full moons after we began, he stopped wanting the potion.

I nearly dropped the glass of firewhiskey I was holding at that point, and slowly turned to look at him. He nodded at me once, before disappearing into his world of books again.

The full moon neared. I began gathering the necessary ingredients.

He stopped me.

There was a clip in his voice when he reminded me that he had asked me not to make it.

I asked him why.

He said it was because he missed howling. He missed the animal instinct, the raw feeling of it all. He said he wanted to look at the moon and feel his blood in his veins, instead of curling up in front of the fire and riding out the pain.

I asked him where he would go.

He said he knew of a place where he -- and anybody else -- would be safe.

And I agreed.

Even then, I didn't know why. I had seen the faraway look in his eyes, and I knew it wasn't the moon that he missed, nor the howling. I knew that there were feelings he craved besides the bloodlust of the werewolf, even then I knew.

And I let him go.

The moon had never seemed so large until that night. And I had never felt so dark. The worry inside of me was unfamiliar...and I loathed it. I hated not knowing where he was. And above all, I hated being certain of the fact that I did not trust him. I wondered if he knew this. I decided that he did not...for if he did, he would have made some snivelling, Gryffindor-like attempt at regaining my trust.

But instead, he did not come home in the morning.

It shouldn't have bothered me. He had told me enough, and I had learned enough, to know that a transformation as such required much physical energy, and often drained the mind as well. If he was far enough away by the time dawn broke, of course it would take him all day to summon up the energy to come home again.

When I was young, my father told me I had the senses to rival a werewolf. And maybe they did.

Because he did not appear to take notice of the black dog hairs on his white shirt, nor the pungent odor of a wet canine on his entire body.

The realization did not shock me. After all, what impact could I possibly have on this man, compared to that of his best friend from childhood? I was a shadow. If anything, I was the only reminder that this man, the werewolf, had of his precious Mauraders...that was why he chose to keep me around. And now that his packmate was back, where did the once-archenemy fit in?

Of course, I only made things complicated for myself by developing feelings for him.

That's why I let him run off on his trysts with the dog. Because the full moon was theirs. I knew this much.

But then it began to grow longer than that. He would be gone for two days, three...never telling me the truth. The only way I knew was because I could see through his smile, the one that showed too many teeth to belong to a real human. I could smell the truth on him like it was radiating from his pores...and maybe it was.

But I stayed silent. I could keep his secret. I had done it once before.

On the sixth full moon since he stopped taking the potion, he looked at me before leaving on his monthly excursion.

And he told me that I was darkly beautiful.

Beautiful.

I laughed.

It's been three full moons, and I haven't seen him since.