HP - Memory
Title: Memory
Rating: teen-ish
Characters: Remus
Genre: Angsty
Warnings: None
Word Count: 247
Summary: Remus wakes up one cold morning after the full moon with a memory on his mind.
Author's Note: This is a remix of planetgal471's fic, found here. More of a companion piece than a true remix.
Memory
It is a cold morning in February. Winter is on its way out, and it isn’t happy about it, sending biting winds and heavy storms in a bitter parting shot. It is times like this when Remus most hates being a werewolf. In summer it is not so bad waking up naked, locked in his office, covered in bruises where the wolf threw itself at the door, the walls, the desk, trying to get out. But in winter waking up makes weak limbs shake, exposed cuts smarting in the chill.
Remus doesn’t usually remember the change. The snapping of sinew, the grinding of bones, the stretching of muscle; he is glad to wake up with only the aches and scrapes to remind him of what had happened.
And so it unsettles him when he wakes up with the memory of a face behind his eyes; black hair and grey eyes and too much sarcasm for someone so young, too little dignity for someone so old. There is laughter in his ears, loud and rich and slightly mocking, the memory of so many years gone by and so much loss since then.
He should be getting up, getting dressed, going to see Poppy for his usual patching-up; he has classes tomorrow, after all. But that all seems so far away for the moment. There are tears in his eyes and a name on his tongue as Remus curls into himself on the stone floor of his office.
"Sirius…"
Rating: teen-ish
Characters: Remus
Genre: Angsty
Warnings: None
Word Count: 247
Summary: Remus wakes up one cold morning after the full moon with a memory on his mind.
Author's Note: This is a remix of planetgal471's fic, found here. More of a companion piece than a true remix.
Memory
It is a cold morning in February. Winter is on its way out, and it isn’t happy about it, sending biting winds and heavy storms in a bitter parting shot. It is times like this when Remus most hates being a werewolf. In summer it is not so bad waking up naked, locked in his office, covered in bruises where the wolf threw itself at the door, the walls, the desk, trying to get out. But in winter waking up makes weak limbs shake, exposed cuts smarting in the chill.
Remus doesn’t usually remember the change. The snapping of sinew, the grinding of bones, the stretching of muscle; he is glad to wake up with only the aches and scrapes to remind him of what had happened.
And so it unsettles him when he wakes up with the memory of a face behind his eyes; black hair and grey eyes and too much sarcasm for someone so young, too little dignity for someone so old. There is laughter in his ears, loud and rich and slightly mocking, the memory of so many years gone by and so much loss since then.
He should be getting up, getting dressed, going to see Poppy for his usual patching-up; he has classes tomorrow, after all. But that all seems so far away for the moment. There are tears in his eyes and a name on his tongue as Remus curls into himself on the stone floor of his office.
"Sirius…"