Title: Soulsick
Title: Soulsick
Author: carolion
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: hints to past Remus/Sirius
Rating: PG-13 for violent imagery
Summary: The first transformation after the night James and Lily had died was the wort Remus Lupin could remember.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything and this is a piece of fiction based solely on the ideas from my brain.
Author's Notes: I wrote the first 700 words of this something like three or four years ago. Feeling nostalgic, I dug it out tonight and finished it. I'm not too disappointed in it, really, although who knows how I'll feel about it tomorrow. Felt good to write Remus again.
Warnings: Vague description of a werewolf transformation. Angst angst angst.
Word Count: ~1500
The first transformation after that night - the night that James and Lily died, after Sirius (no, Black, because Sirius had been his friend but this Black fellow was a murderer who he didn’t know at all) had sold them out and killed Peter too - that transformation was one of the worst that Remus could remember having. He’d been so devastated from the recent events that he had almost forgotten about it too, too busy pleading with Dumbledore to let him take Harry - after all, Remus had grown up with James and Lily, stood next to James at the wedding, and held Harry with trembling hands when the little boy had been only a few hours old. He was the last of the Marauders, surely he deserved this responsibility? He loved Harry as fiercely as any blood relative and yet, somehow, that wasn’t enough. Dumbledore insisted that the boy would be safest with his real family, even though Remus had been there as Lily futilely tried to reconcile with her sister, watched as James held her tenderly as she cried over un-mended bridges.
“Harry will be safest with his family,” Dumbledore had repeated calmly, even as Remus tried to sway him, his pleas growing more and more frantic. The grief that swamped him would be alleviated if he could just do this for James and Lily.
“Professor, please. I’m the closest thing he has to a family. I-I’ve been with him since birth. He knows me.”
It was true. Harry, at just over a year old babbled mostly nonsense, but was quickly learning how to speak. ‘Dada’ and ‘Mummy’ were the first on the list, obviously, but Harry had begun to squeal ‘Moony! Moony!’ whenever Remus was in the room, lifting his chubby arms hopefully until Remus swept him into his arms. Sirius had been so annoyed that Remus’ moniker was the first name his godson learned that he had coached Harry with a devotion he’d never shown his schoolwork until the little boy could warble out ‘Pa’foo’!’ He’d been so damn pleased with himself.
Just remembering it made Remus desperate all over again. He could still remember James’ serious face as he pulled his friend aside. That look - the furrowed brow, worry lines creasing around his mouth and eyes - was becoming far too common on everyone’s faces then. ‘You’ll look after them, won’t you Remus?’ James had asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was looking at Sirius and Harry who were sprawled on the ground together. Harry was clutching at Sirius’ face and hair, blowing spit bubbles and Sirius was laughing, wincing now and then as the baby pulled too hard. James had looked back at him then though, and raised his eyebrow knowingly. Remus flushed, shocked and embarrassed, though he shouldn’t have been. James was remarkably astute despite being such a prat.
‘Of course,’ Remus had said back, and he meant it, he really did, but he was allowed to now.
“Remus,” Dumbledore interrupted his train of thought. He looked devastatingly pitying. ’Please don’t,’ Remus thought hysterically, unable to take the weight of those blue eyes.
“Harry is already with his Aunt and Uncle. I promise you he is safe there. And besides,” Dumbledore reached over and touched Remus’ cheek gently, cupping the side of his face in an act of comfort to soften the blow of his next words. “You are a werewolf.”
The face on his hand may have been gentle but Remus still felt like he had been slapped. As if he could forget.
“My dear boy,” the old man had said, and the pity was over-fucking-whelming, made Remus claustrophobic with it’s presence. He was furious to find his eyes filling with tears, but it was hopeless. He jerked his face back roughly, blanking his face and looking away from his beloved professor, staring instead at the ground and trying to control his breathing.
“You’re right.” He choked out, his voice thin and tight. “It wouldn’t be fair. This way- this way he can grow up normally.” He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling weak. His skin felt wet - sweat, he realized distantly.
That night he went home feeling shaky and angry. He removed his clothes methodically, numbly unbuttoning his shirt and trousers and folding them neatly on the bed, to be dealt with in the morning. Finally he went downstairs to the dark, dank, windowless basement that had inspired to buy the home, despite it’s many repairs and flaws. He shut the door and latched it with a heavy bolt, barricading himself inside the grey cement room. And then he waited.
Waiting for the moon to rise always inevitably reminded Remus of waiting for an axe to fall. There was such terrible anticipation that came with it, especially when he couldn’t watch the sky as it darkened, counting down the minutes. Remus was alone with his shivers and shakes and worst of all: alone with his thoughts. As his bones began to ache and his skin felt too tight, Remus could only think of Lily and James, Lily and James, Lily and James and Harry, and Peter, poor Peter. He curled in tighter on himself on the cold hard ground as pain began to jackhammer through his body, demanding that it shift and change to unleash the beast within.
As he grappled with the last shreds of his humanity for the evening, he could feel his control slipping away. He couldn’t shut out the thoughts of him, the ones he’d been pushing away so effectively, refusing to think of him, refusing to acknowledge - but the wolf was taking over and it forced him to let go, let go of his carefully constructed shields and face the truth.
Sirius, Sirius, it was Sirius, god no, it couldn’t have been, Remus whined and clawed at the ground, bones shifting, crunching, skin rippling and sprouting fur, his spine elongating and his legs reshaping, he loved them, how could he? He loved them, he loved me, no, not Sirius, Sirius was home, Sirius was light, Sirius was friend and family and pack. He screamed as the joints in his fingers popped and snapped, his palms flattening to grow wider, heavier, thicker. His thoughts warped, and Remus howled in frustration, a broken cry of rage as the last few coherent human thoughts slipped through his grasp and into nothingness, leaving only the Wolf, who was alone.
He had not been alone in many years, dozens of moons, hundreds of transformations, and the Wolf felt the loss of his pack like a spear of pain through his skull, drilling the loneliness and the hatred and the desire to hurt into his consciousness. It was almost more than the Wolf could bear, to go from a family he loved and protected fiercely to only one again.
He tore the room apart that night.
--
He couldn’t breathe.
When Remus woke the next morning he could smell blood. It was thick and heavy and it made him want to puke, if only he could move - if only he could breathe. But it hurt to breathe, and moving made his stomach heave even more violently than the smell of blood did, not to mention how his head swam, and colors danced in front of his eyes. He put his head down and did not move, wondering if this was the last of his days. If perhaps the last transformation had been too much for him.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there, taking small, measured breaths and thinking dully of nothing at all. The pounding in his head felt like a funeral march, and he half wished it were. He closed his eyes and swallowed against the sickness that rose in his throat, trying to choke him.
“Remus?” there was a voice outside his door.
“Remus? Remus?” it repeated, over and over, and Remus wanted to cry out but he couldn’t, because he couldn’t make his jaw move, and his tongue felt huge and thick, useless in his mouth.
Finally the door to the basement opened, and Minerva McGonagall was crouching next to him, gasping at the state of him. He tried to focus his eyes, but all he could recognize was the glint of her glasses as they rested on her nose - the rest of her was a blur of sensible colors and fluttering hands that wouldn’t stop moving. It was making him dizzy.
He could vaguely recognize that she was trying to ask him something, but Remus couldn’t force himself to care. It was too painful to move, and somewhere deep inside of him, he wondered if it was worth it.
James and Lily and Peter were dead. Harry had been taken from him and put into the care of strangers. And Sirius (no, not Sirius, Black, Sirius was dead now too) had betrayed them all. Remus and the Wolf were alone now, with nothing but each other for company.
No, Remus thought darkly to himself as his old professor floo’d for help, it wasn’t really worth it at all.
Author: carolion
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: hints to past Remus/Sirius
Rating: PG-13 for violent imagery
Summary: The first transformation after the night James and Lily had died was the wort Remus Lupin could remember.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything and this is a piece of fiction based solely on the ideas from my brain.
Author's Notes: I wrote the first 700 words of this something like three or four years ago. Feeling nostalgic, I dug it out tonight and finished it. I'm not too disappointed in it, really, although who knows how I'll feel about it tomorrow. Felt good to write Remus again.
Warnings: Vague description of a werewolf transformation. Angst angst angst.
Word Count: ~1500
The first transformation after that night - the night that James and Lily died, after Sirius (no, Black, because Sirius had been his friend but this Black fellow was a murderer who he didn’t know at all) had sold them out and killed Peter too - that transformation was one of the worst that Remus could remember having. He’d been so devastated from the recent events that he had almost forgotten about it too, too busy pleading with Dumbledore to let him take Harry - after all, Remus had grown up with James and Lily, stood next to James at the wedding, and held Harry with trembling hands when the little boy had been only a few hours old. He was the last of the Marauders, surely he deserved this responsibility? He loved Harry as fiercely as any blood relative and yet, somehow, that wasn’t enough. Dumbledore insisted that the boy would be safest with his real family, even though Remus had been there as Lily futilely tried to reconcile with her sister, watched as James held her tenderly as she cried over un-mended bridges.
“Harry will be safest with his family,” Dumbledore had repeated calmly, even as Remus tried to sway him, his pleas growing more and more frantic. The grief that swamped him would be alleviated if he could just do this for James and Lily.
“Professor, please. I’m the closest thing he has to a family. I-I’ve been with him since birth. He knows me.”
It was true. Harry, at just over a year old babbled mostly nonsense, but was quickly learning how to speak. ‘Dada’ and ‘Mummy’ were the first on the list, obviously, but Harry had begun to squeal ‘Moony! Moony!’ whenever Remus was in the room, lifting his chubby arms hopefully until Remus swept him into his arms. Sirius had been so annoyed that Remus’ moniker was the first name his godson learned that he had coached Harry with a devotion he’d never shown his schoolwork until the little boy could warble out ‘Pa’foo’!’ He’d been so damn pleased with himself.
Just remembering it made Remus desperate all over again. He could still remember James’ serious face as he pulled his friend aside. That look - the furrowed brow, worry lines creasing around his mouth and eyes - was becoming far too common on everyone’s faces then. ‘You’ll look after them, won’t you Remus?’ James had asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was looking at Sirius and Harry who were sprawled on the ground together. Harry was clutching at Sirius’ face and hair, blowing spit bubbles and Sirius was laughing, wincing now and then as the baby pulled too hard. James had looked back at him then though, and raised his eyebrow knowingly. Remus flushed, shocked and embarrassed, though he shouldn’t have been. James was remarkably astute despite being such a prat.
‘Of course,’ Remus had said back, and he meant it, he really did, but he was allowed to now.
“Remus,” Dumbledore interrupted his train of thought. He looked devastatingly pitying. ’Please don’t,’ Remus thought hysterically, unable to take the weight of those blue eyes.
“Harry is already with his Aunt and Uncle. I promise you he is safe there. And besides,” Dumbledore reached over and touched Remus’ cheek gently, cupping the side of his face in an act of comfort to soften the blow of his next words. “You are a werewolf.”
The face on his hand may have been gentle but Remus still felt like he had been slapped. As if he could forget.
“My dear boy,” the old man had said, and the pity was over-fucking-whelming, made Remus claustrophobic with it’s presence. He was furious to find his eyes filling with tears, but it was hopeless. He jerked his face back roughly, blanking his face and looking away from his beloved professor, staring instead at the ground and trying to control his breathing.
“You’re right.” He choked out, his voice thin and tight. “It wouldn’t be fair. This way- this way he can grow up normally.” He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling weak. His skin felt wet - sweat, he realized distantly.
That night he went home feeling shaky and angry. He removed his clothes methodically, numbly unbuttoning his shirt and trousers and folding them neatly on the bed, to be dealt with in the morning. Finally he went downstairs to the dark, dank, windowless basement that had inspired to buy the home, despite it’s many repairs and flaws. He shut the door and latched it with a heavy bolt, barricading himself inside the grey cement room. And then he waited.
Waiting for the moon to rise always inevitably reminded Remus of waiting for an axe to fall. There was such terrible anticipation that came with it, especially when he couldn’t watch the sky as it darkened, counting down the minutes. Remus was alone with his shivers and shakes and worst of all: alone with his thoughts. As his bones began to ache and his skin felt too tight, Remus could only think of Lily and James, Lily and James, Lily and James and Harry, and Peter, poor Peter. He curled in tighter on himself on the cold hard ground as pain began to jackhammer through his body, demanding that it shift and change to unleash the beast within.
As he grappled with the last shreds of his humanity for the evening, he could feel his control slipping away. He couldn’t shut out the thoughts of him, the ones he’d been pushing away so effectively, refusing to think of him, refusing to acknowledge - but the wolf was taking over and it forced him to let go, let go of his carefully constructed shields and face the truth.
Sirius, Sirius, it was Sirius, god no, it couldn’t have been, Remus whined and clawed at the ground, bones shifting, crunching, skin rippling and sprouting fur, his spine elongating and his legs reshaping, he loved them, how could he? He loved them, he loved me, no, not Sirius, Sirius was home, Sirius was light, Sirius was friend and family and pack. He screamed as the joints in his fingers popped and snapped, his palms flattening to grow wider, heavier, thicker. His thoughts warped, and Remus howled in frustration, a broken cry of rage as the last few coherent human thoughts slipped through his grasp and into nothingness, leaving only the Wolf, who was alone.
He had not been alone in many years, dozens of moons, hundreds of transformations, and the Wolf felt the loss of his pack like a spear of pain through his skull, drilling the loneliness and the hatred and the desire to hurt into his consciousness. It was almost more than the Wolf could bear, to go from a family he loved and protected fiercely to only one again.
He tore the room apart that night.
--
He couldn’t breathe.
When Remus woke the next morning he could smell blood. It was thick and heavy and it made him want to puke, if only he could move - if only he could breathe. But it hurt to breathe, and moving made his stomach heave even more violently than the smell of blood did, not to mention how his head swam, and colors danced in front of his eyes. He put his head down and did not move, wondering if this was the last of his days. If perhaps the last transformation had been too much for him.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there, taking small, measured breaths and thinking dully of nothing at all. The pounding in his head felt like a funeral march, and he half wished it were. He closed his eyes and swallowed against the sickness that rose in his throat, trying to choke him.
“Remus?” there was a voice outside his door.
“Remus? Remus?” it repeated, over and over, and Remus wanted to cry out but he couldn’t, because he couldn’t make his jaw move, and his tongue felt huge and thick, useless in his mouth.
Finally the door to the basement opened, and Minerva McGonagall was crouching next to him, gasping at the state of him. He tried to focus his eyes, but all he could recognize was the glint of her glasses as they rested on her nose - the rest of her was a blur of sensible colors and fluttering hands that wouldn’t stop moving. It was making him dizzy.
He could vaguely recognize that she was trying to ask him something, but Remus couldn’t force himself to care. It was too painful to move, and somewhere deep inside of him, he wondered if it was worth it.
James and Lily and Peter were dead. Harry had been taken from him and put into the care of strangers. And Sirius (no, not Sirius, Black, Sirius was dead now too) had betrayed them all. Remus and the Wolf were alone now, with nothing but each other for company.
No, Remus thought darkly to himself as his old professor floo’d for help, it wasn’t really worth it at all.