Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling.
The Four of Swords
"Rest. Rest. Rest."
With a tarot card in hand, he hummed a simple, loving note of confusion. Despite having no idea what tarot, let alone divination, was, he found the qualities of the card itself intriguing. He brushed the tenderly-worn corners with the tip of his finger and traced the grooves and slopes of the embossed details. The delicate blues and reds, the gold-leafed backgrounds, the knights, the queens, the monsters, everything was captivating to the little boy. Being extra careful, he put the card back down onto the old, oak dining table alongside the other cards.
Absently, he yawned deeply into his hands. It was the most blissful, carefree sound one could imagine.
"It is getting pretty late, isn't it?"
The boy looked up towards his dad. He did not fail to see that his father had yawned too. He snickered. His dad only smiled in return with such resonating warmth that the boy could feel his sleepiness grow and grow. Another voice, more round, comforting, motherly, wrapped itself around the young boy, as the woman embraced him from behind, "Your father is right, honey. Come – I'll tuck you in."
He yawned again, as he reached blindly towards his mom's warm, guiding hand.
It was hard to keep his eyes open, nonetheless walk up towards his room. Ah, so close, he thought before almost stumbling back. It got to the point where his mother had to carry him up. "You are going to sleep earlier tomorrow," she muttered softly, "right?" The boy only muttered some sleepy nonsense. It was so warm, so familiar, so protective. Sleep was just a door away.
He felt Sleep pulling on his eyelids until he finally succumbed. Sleep.
It took and felt only like a second before he jolted awake to a ear-wrenching SCKRR! It scraped at his earlobes. It turned his blood into chutes of metal. His heart cringed at the sound. He could only draw his hands up to his ears in an act of pure instinctual desperation. He squirmed to the twisting, metallic whine. After what seemed like minutes, the sound stopped with a thud. The boy brought his sheets closer to hide. It was oddly cold now. He trembled. There was another sound. This sound was low and broken. It made you want to pull your heart out, so it would stop pounding along .It was a panting – definitely a panting – alongside a vicious whispering. His body shook to its very core. His room no longer felt safe. The shadows cast by the moon, seemed to dance around his room only to taunt his sanity.
Then the house shook.
His ribs ached. His heart stuttered.
He could not stand it. With his grip tightly around his sheets, he flailed across the room towards the door. He needed to leave! He needed to find his mom, his dad – anyone! The warmth, all that nostalgic warmth, from that evening had gone. Where had it gone, he whimpered to himself. He struggled with the knob. He was shaking too much, his hands refused to move or turn in any direction, just tremble. The knob rattled violently, and then the door opened from the other side carelessly fast. The knob smacked into his jaw and immediately gagged on the mercurial taste of blood.
"Remus!" his mother cried, as she crouched down to scoop him up. She was white- deathly white- he noticed with widened eyes. Her hair in disarray, her nightgown torn, her body trembling, Remus got more scared. He had forgotten about the blood; his mind had gone blank at the sight of his mother. So alarmed by his mother's appearance, he hadn't realized that the blood had begun to drip from his mouth. Before he could do anything, a thunderous howl shook the house once more.
Was this punishment, he cried out to the many layers of his higher conscious, what had he done! Why was this happening! Why!
No response.
His mother was saying something, but he was too far gone. He could only hear the sounds of the animal – or animals - outside and his body trembled pathetically. He sought his mother's protection. She seemingly responded to that desire, as she approached him to wipe the blood off with her white gown. Then she then hugged him as if to give him all her strength and courage – or vice versa. She muttered something again. Remus only saw her lips move frantically in a rapid charade of silent jargon. There were no words. He could only look dazedly at his mom and watch how close she was to tears. She kissed him on his forehead. It felt so final.
She left.
It was surreally blue once his mother left. It was rather like a blink. She was there in white, as his protector and mother. Then she wasn't. It was blue upon blue upon blue. It was quiet. It was so quiet. He wished he could get up. The walls seemed to loom over him, a mirrored cage that withheld and magnified all his fears. They were so intensely blue and silent. It was overwhelming. It hurt. His senses were going numb: his eyes stung, his nose froze, his limbs stiffened, and his thoughts reeled up and down like ever desperate Sisyphus. Closer and closer, bluer and bluer, the room became suffocating.
He could not breathe.
Something within him, the illusory glimpse of white, sparked his desire to follow his mother. How weak he had gotten, he admonished, as he desperately sought to stand with his own two feet. Clumsily he got up, reached up with his stout arms towards the door frame for support. He recoiled when he realized it was blue. Yet he was too weak to walk without some sort of support. Out onto the staircase, he stumbled down but was careful not to fall. He had his whole upper body on the blue walls for support.
There was no relief at the bottom of the staircase. A dreadful stench pervaded every nook of what was his family's living-kitchen area. It was full of bloodlust, rain, and something too feral to comprehend. It made Remus dizzy. He could not stand anymore, and slouched onto the wood floor. He did not know whether it was fear or the smell that did it. It was probably both. He could barely keep his head up. He stared at the grooves of the wood, and wondered fearfully where his mother and father were.
When he had managed to look up, he saw that the door was open.
His parents were outside.
There was a shot of white.
It might have been the moon.
Or it might have been his mom. He did not know. It looked so cold, so distant, so full.
A scream
Then a pair of yellow-spears for eyes. Another scream. A scream that finally broke the blue silence.
Pain and panting.
It became warm. It felt worse than the blue cold. It was so… red.
So painful.
"Remus"
He awoke. There was a rusty yellow light, it was the first thing he saw, thought of, and understood. It seemed to dust everything. It, like his memories, felt old, distant, and barren of warmth. He shivered violently, and groaned at how painful that spike of movement was. He was in a cold sweat he realized, which made his whole bed uncomfortably moist. He looked up at his father. The older man looked worried and exhausted. Remus could tell that his father hadn't slept. His eyes blinked slowly and heavily. Remus felt pathetic.
Another full moon had passed. Another series of inexhaustible gashes, tears, and ruptures.
"Pa" he whispered softly.
"It was the night terror again… wasn't it?" It was another voice.
Remus turned his head in a retched fashion. It hurt to watch. The veins on his neck were on the verge of popping or snapping. The muscles looked strained and broken. The cuts and scratches that ran in all directions across his neck were raw and pussy. Fortunately nobody had eaten
"Mum"
I had the hardest time trying to figure out the genre of the fic, because this is not a gushy romance fic, a full on Shakesperean drama, or a tragedy really. I guess it would be general... but the word 'general' seemed to broad. The SB/RL slash is considerably later in the fic by the way. Anyhow, no AU stuff at all in this chapter really. The next chapter is full of it however, and is considerably longer. Depending on how responsive you readers are, I will post the next chapter sometime soon. Anyway, thanks for reading!
