A Darkened Life

People always say I’m so thoughtful and insightful. Then they tell me that I’m such a handsome young man, smile, and casually walk off. They don’t even know me and they say that. I don’t like it in the slightest. But if they did know me, they wouldn’t say that. Whenever someone finds out, they cringe and shrink away in terror. I can’t help being this way. I didn’t choose it; I don’t want it. But people still seem to hate me for it.

Well, most everyone. I’ve got friends now. They’re the first friends I’ve ever had that I’ve been totally honest with. And they still like me. It’s such a shock that I can’t quite believe it. Even after what they’ve done for me. They risked their lives just to make mine slightly more enjoyable. They say it’s because they never let anyone go through anything they don’t have to alone. The first thing James said when he told me of their plan was a famous quote. “The hardest battles are the battles fought alone.” Or something like that. He said I ought to know about that after all I’ve had to endure.

I told him I did know what he meant.

He smiled. I know he wanted to tell me how thoughtful and insightful I am, but he restrained himself. He knows how much I hate it, even coming from him.

The only reason I’m this way is because I’ve got so much time to think about everything. Every month I sit there, and I wait for the moon to rise, and I think about all that needs thinking about.

But then the change begins. It’s not as easy as the other three have it. They will themselves to change, and they do in the blink of an eye, quickly morphing in to another species with no pain or trouble at all.

But mine is pain beyond belief. First, my body becomes rigid and it starts to shake and stiffen against my mind’s thoughts, for all the while my mind is screaming no, no not this time. Maybe the others were all a dream and this isn’t really happening. Stop. Control yourself. You can resist it. I know you can. But even so, I change. After my body stiffens, my mouth lengthens and becomes hard, unknown, hateful. I can feel the long fangs beckoning me to take blood, but by then I’m cut off from all life. Then my back arches forward and down and my hands become paws which I am used to seeing by then already as I am doubled over in pain. The claws become longer too, and razor sharp. And then my fur grows. And it feels like there are a million tiny needles poking out of my skin and ripping it apart. These are the tiny, coarse hairs which I gnaw at while I am alone. My tail grows too, but by then the pain from everything else is so intense, I scarcely notice it in lieu of it all.

But the worst part is my mind. My mind changes too, though not in the same way. Once the transformation is complete, my mind becomes that of a werewolf. It tells me to run out and kill and tear human flesh off of living bones. Since they take me away, I don’t have anything to quench this hunger, and I rip apart everything else instead, trying to get out; out to that human blood; to make more like myself.

And all the while there is a roaring sound in my mind that must be my own throat calling and it overpowers that voice in the back of my mind telling me that this is wrong. I can’t even hear that smaller voice, though if I could, I doubt I would listen to it. I wouldn’t want to. So instead I rip and tear and break everything in sight, though it’s never enough. And I always want to get more, but I can’t. I can’t.

After the change, everything is worse. The sense of emptiness and regret and isolation is more than I can tolerate. I feel so bad about changing: anger to myself for letting it happen, even if I know I couldn’t stop it; loneliness because I’ll never be a proper child, I’ll always have to be whisked away every month and hated and feared because of it; fear of myself and fear for others that I might one day fulfill the longing that comes with my change. I don’t want to but I can’t stop those thoughts from coming.

But when I’m with my friends, it all seems so much better. The moment I see the stag rushing down that hallway followed closely by the dog and then, lastly, the little rat trailing them, all my terror and pain at being what I am, who I am goes away.

Sirius and James were the ones who decided to make the change to become Animagi. They took the initiative and went ahead and it is reflected in their transformations. For, you see, their animals are a reflection of their deepest personality, their soul, their being that makes them them.

The stag. That is James. Strong and powerful, though with just the right touch of kindness and a gentle streak. Always willing to stand up and fight against others if need be, though not afraid to run if that’s what needs to be done.

The dog. Fierce, yet loyal; friendly, trustworthy, yet powerful. And smart as all get out. Sirius Black on the nose. He was the leader in this expedition; he and James, really. Sirius always had this playful streak to him that was almost puppy-like, but he knew when he needed to be serious Sirius.

The rat. Peter. When we saw him, we were all surprised, or at least we all acted that way. I think that deep down, all of us suspected him to come out like he did. He always trailed behind in everything. Our group, his studies, our jokes, even our friendships. He was always the ‘rat end’ of our group. The one who trailed behind. He was never ‘in’ as much as we were. But we felt guilty and let him in. His form, though. It might be a bit of a warning in a way, seeing as it is a rat. But it could just be that he is sneaky and secretive and likes to collect things like a packrat. Whether it comes out for the better or for worse, we’ll have to see. He is the most confusing, but in no way the smartest or the most layered. He’s just…off…in a way.

But whatever they are, I know they will never betray me. I can trust them with every thought that runs around in my head; every notion that comes into my mind. And they never mind. On the contrary, I know they all respect and contemplate what I say. I remember once when we had been friends for about a year I said something and James stood there looking at me for a moment with the queerest expression on his face. I asked him what he was thinking about and he said something that made me want to collapse at his feet in wonder and amazement. I had never heard him say anything so deep, though he listened to me when I did and he would say those sort of things quite often later on in our friendship.

I remember we were walking across the field, him with his Quidditch robes on. All of a sudden he stopped short and stared at me, so fiercely, into my eyes with the calmest expression I had ever seen him have and spoke. “Remus. Your thoughts are always so poetic in a way. Everything you say seems as if it could someday be a quote; as if you thought about all you say for ages and think what the reactions and consequences would be before you say it. It seems as if every word, every exclamation, every gasp that comes out of your mouth ought to be written down and recorded so that all future generations could enjoy them. You seem to put so much care and careful choice into choosing your words that they really shouldn’t be wasted upon simple-minded folk like myself.” I still remember every word of that speech, though it was nearly six years ago.

“Nothing I say to any of you is ever wasted.” It was the only reply I could think of. I, honestly, for once, had absolutely no response. But he didn’t see it that way.

He smiled his million dollar smile that made every girl at our school tremble and shake. “Your ability to say the right things at the right times amazes me too. And your command of our language. It’s uncanny.” Then he went off, striding towards the Quidditch pitch again. I didn’t know what to say, or do. I just stood there, staring off after him, but not really seeing him.

He’s still like that. Sirius is great. He’s one of my best friends and though he does have his moments, I’ve always felt more open with James. Sirius would be quite willing to listen and I’m sure he would have a wonderful response prepared, but I always talk with James about deeper subjects. I guess Sirius would be fine, but I’ve always talked to James and it’s hard to change. Or maybe I have enough change in one month, more than most people have in a lifetime, that I don’t want to change anymore than I have to. It’s all so confusing.

Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and I wonder who I am; who that person staring back at me is. My mirror always clucks at me when I do this.

I’ve thought about suicide. Thought about it, not about doing it. I always wondered how you could go through with it and not regret it over and over again. Weighing the consequences, I’ve always decided against it. Whatever has been thrown at me, I believe I can overcome. The transformation is so painful and yet, I want to prove myself, to myself, that I can survive it; be better than it; live through it. I want to show that I can take whatever comes my way without backing down once. Even with my personality, I sometimes wonder what would happen if I could become an Animagus through the normal ways. I wonder if I would be a werewolf anyway. That fierceness that lives inside of me seems to be most prominent then, and I sometimes believe, wholeheartedly, that I would be. It scares me.

And I’ve always been against suicide because I don’t want to die. Even as a ghost, you’re not really dead because you can keep learning and thinking and exploring. When you are murdered, and suicide is a form of murder, nobody knows what will happen to you. Even letting go, giving up on your life such as when you are very sick is a form of it, because you stop caring, you wish to die, and so it happens. I want to have an absolute certainty in life. Be positive that I will come back and know new things. And at the same time, I’m curious to find out what happens to those who do die in that way. I want to know, and yet, I don’t. I suppose I’ll find out in due time. I’ll find out everything in due time.

Sometimes, at night, I have dreams about the night I received my bite. I was playing outside, a small boy, and I remember my mother had called me in before. She had warned me against being bitten by a werewolf, though I figured it was just a ruse to get me to come inside when she asked.

I was out in the yard, oblivious to everything. There was an odd sound outside our low, white picket fence. Then there was an obvious snarl and a cry as if it were something that was contained in a cage, trying desperately to get to the other side for an especially wonderful treat that had been placed just beyond its reach. I believe it might have even been pacing. By this time, I was terrified, though for reasons that I beat myself up for over and over again, I did not run. That canine voice called out to me, making me want to come closer, as if it were in pain and needed help.

I heard it softly padding away and as I breathed a sigh of relief, my heart fell, ever so slightly. Then with a growl and a snarl, it flew over the fence and ran towards me with a speed I wouldn’t have thought possible. Even so, it seemed to go in slow motion for me. I couldn’t help but be awed by the mighty force it had as it leaped over the fence with every one of its muscles flexing and pumping, working their way towards me. I saw its eyes with an intense fury and concentration in them, coming closer and closer. They weren’t the blood red that I’d always imagined a werewolf’s to be. There were of a deep blue of the human who was still alive in that body. I saw its sleek body moving in rhythm that seemed to be beyond the control of the mind of the person.

As it reached me, I felt the entire weight of it upon me and its triumphant scream as its teeth sank into my arm. I could tell it wanted to tear me to pieces, to whip my body back and forth, to rip my flesh off my bones and swallow. But because I was not dead first, it backed up in amazement as the suction began. It seemed as if every dark thing to be afraid of in the night was being pulled into me; and others that I did not know were there. I felt as if all the darkness that is associated with night, and then the Full Moon, were being pulled into me; being wrapped around me like a cloak of steel and darkness.

And then I had my first change. Being a small child, I had fallen many times and been hurt rather often, so I was determined not to cry. But as the pain grew stronger, I began to scream, though I can’t remember if I screamed aloud or in my mind. The scream echoed throughout my body and grew louder and stronger, as if fed and feeing that darker force that was around me.

Then it was over and all I wanted was to lie there and never move again. But that voice inside of my mind was calling out to me and bringing me forth to the world as if I were being reborn. I got up and stood up on shaky legs, slightly splayed with the effort of keeping myself upright. The other werewolf looked me over once and gave a mighty leap back over the fence and away into the night. Without a moment’s hesitation, I followed, but it had already melded together with the darkness.

That night was a bit of a blur for me. I remember streaking around without a thought in my mind except for kill and eat…human flesh. I saw other animals, and though they ran in fright from me, I did not pay them the slightest mind. The entire night I ran through the village and then into the forest, looking, searching for anyone who might be out, but there was no one.

The next morning I woke up collapsed on a path leading to the village just inside the edge of the forest. I was sprawled on my side with my appendages out in front of me in a very canine manner. I could not remember changing back, and, to be honest, I didn’t want to. At that age, I didn’t know very much about being a werewolf. I wasn’t even sure it wasn’t a dream. As it was, I would later be awake for many of them.

When I got home, everyone was sick with worry and fear. Their worst fears were confirmed when I came into view with the claw and fang marks in my clothing. I couldn’t tell which were my own and which were of that hated other werewolf.

I felt sorry for it in a way. Sometimes I wonder if all werewolves feel as I do when they change. If they feel that terrible panic and horror of what they have become, or of what they will soon be. I don’t know. Everyone is different. But it gives me some comfort, though not joy, to know that others go through what I do. And it still scares me.

A/N: I know, I know. I’ve been getting into these depressing monologues lately when I’m in these depressing moods, but this is almost therapeutic for me. And besides, it’s interesting to write. It’s a little of me speaking and a bit more of Remus. I hope you enjoyed it too.

Please review. I like reviews.