To turn the tide (Prompt: Regret)
In the life of a werewolf, there are things to regret every full moon. A careless slip-up and a person gets bitten. A friend, a relative, a lover. Anyone.
But those mistakes are not the cursed one's fault, provided the wizard has taken the necessary precautions first. Of course, if lycanthropy should win the soul then the hunger for flesh becomes constant and all-consuming.
However, in the life of a person, the things to regret are mainly the person's fault. You could have done something to avoid them, but you didn't. And those are the things that hurt the most, that weigh on your conscience and stay there unless you do something to change what you did. If you can.
Remus regrets lots of things, both in his werewolf form and in his wizard body. The torn paper on the walls, the broken furniture, remind him of those nights, many years ago, when he was content just to have that place to himself, because it meant that he could study and be as normal as possible. But he made friends at some point, and at some point he stopped being grateful by leaving his sanctuary. But that is in the past, he thinks, and in a fresh ripple of rage, he lifts a half table and smashes it against the useless stairs. This is reckless too. He shouldn't have come here tonight.
He regrets having married her. Does it matter that she forced her way through his heart like a young blade of grass through old stone, that she brought joy and fun to his weathered soul, if it is going to hurt her in the end? He remembers the movie he saw when he worked at one of the Muggle jobs he had managed to get, when need pushed him. Beauty and the Beast. Except that the love of a young woman would not take his condition away from him like a fur coat; it doesn't work like that.
Remus can't change it now. And he wouldn't want to part from the only real source of comfort he has ever had. He never thought it would go this far, though. A child is supposed to be a blessing, but in this case it isn't. A father is supposed to give him the best future he can. But in his case, Remus can only give him pain and a lifetime of exclusion.
He can't change that either. So he ran away. He intended to, at least. Not to avoid his responsibility, but to free his offspring of the burden of a werewolf father. He means it for the best: he ought never to have had a family. Now... now he knows that he might regret it.
It's not that time of the month yet. He can change what he's done. He can go back.
But those mistakes are not the cursed one's fault, provided the wizard has taken the necessary precautions first. Of course, if lycanthropy should win the soul then the hunger for flesh becomes constant and all-consuming.
However, in the life of a person, the things to regret are mainly the person's fault. You could have done something to avoid them, but you didn't. And those are the things that hurt the most, that weigh on your conscience and stay there unless you do something to change what you did. If you can.
Remus regrets lots of things, both in his werewolf form and in his wizard body. The torn paper on the walls, the broken furniture, remind him of those nights, many years ago, when he was content just to have that place to himself, because it meant that he could study and be as normal as possible. But he made friends at some point, and at some point he stopped being grateful by leaving his sanctuary. But that is in the past, he thinks, and in a fresh ripple of rage, he lifts a half table and smashes it against the useless stairs. This is reckless too. He shouldn't have come here tonight.
He regrets having married her. Does it matter that she forced her way through his heart like a young blade of grass through old stone, that she brought joy and fun to his weathered soul, if it is going to hurt her in the end? He remembers the movie he saw when he worked at one of the Muggle jobs he had managed to get, when need pushed him. Beauty and the Beast. Except that the love of a young woman would not take his condition away from him like a fur coat; it doesn't work like that.
Remus can't change it now. And he wouldn't want to part from the only real source of comfort he has ever had. He never thought it would go this far, though. A child is supposed to be a blessing, but in this case it isn't. A father is supposed to give him the best future he can. But in his case, Remus can only give him pain and a lifetime of exclusion.
He can't change that either. So he ran away. He intended to, at least. Not to avoid his responsibility, but to free his offspring of the burden of a werewolf father. He means it for the best: he ought never to have had a family. Now... now he knows that he might regret it.
It's not that time of the month yet. He can change what he's done. He can go back.