Author's Intro:

Author's Intro:

Alright…So I re-read the prologue to my story, and that little voice in my head started screaming, "Rewrite it! Rewrite it! It's AWFUL!" I must admit, I'm not that good…so I'm gonna try this again. Thanks to people who gave me support. At this point, I kinda need it. High school life is stressful. Which is the main reason why I haven't posted anything since I posted the prologue. Which I hated. Here it is again…drastically altered and hopefully better than last time…

Moonlit Love: Prologue

He was running. Running from what, he couldn't exactly remember, but the moment he entered the forest, he instantly regretted it. A chilling howl cut through the night. A full moon hung in all its splendor above the trees, but he didn't see it. He stood, paralyzed by fear, staring wide-eyed at the creature in front of him. It looked like a huge, shaggy dog, but its eyes glowed a sickly yellow color, driving him senseless with fear. Only when it began advancing slowly, did he break free and run with a yell. Screaming, he ran from the wolf. But he wasn't fast enough. The thing closed in on him, and its jaws clamped down on his heels, sending him sprawling to the ground, pain erupting through his leg. He screamed.

And woke up.

A nightmare. It was only a nightmare. Same nightmare, but just a nightmare. Just a nightmare… Consoling himself, the boy rose from his bed, feet padding across the cold floor to the bathroom. I hate nightmares. Especially that one. "Urgh…" He flipped up the light switch, squinting into the mirror as he turned on the tap to the sink. Splashing his face with cold water, he shook himself awake in a manner similar to that of a dog. Head flipping side to side, he flung the little droplets off his face and stared at the tired, pale face in the mirror. The nightmare was most vivid right before and right after a full moon. He hated it. Hated the moon. Hated the creature that bit him. Hated the creature that was him. Hated and feared. The boy crept out of the bathroom, flipping the light switch down as he left. He didn't want to wake his parents. Especially now. Descending the stairs as quietly as he could and skipping over the creaky step that would otherwise give off his location, he made his way to the kitchen.

"Man, oh man, oh man," he muttered, massaging his temples as he walked over to the refrigerator, "I need a drink." Usually, butterbeer wasn't alcoholic, but his brother Ben, home from college, was hooked on alcohol, and brought home some of "Mick's Hard Butterbeer: The Real Stuff!" His parents didn't approve of his brother's actions, but he found the alcohol to his advantage: it helped his just-about-monthly headaches, the ones right after a full moon. He pulled a cold bottle out from behind the cling-wrapped leftover meatloaf from dinner. Last one! Lucky me! Just as he was about to take a sip, however, the aforementioned creaky step betrayed the presence of someone on the stairs. He froze, then dove under the dining room table, bottle clutched in hand, eyes wide, wishing the person back up the stairs. It didn't work. Shrinking back further into the shadows of the little table, he thanked the stars for his smallness, and watched as his brother's blue, fluffy-slipper-clad feet entered the kitchen and head straight for the refrigerator. Uh-oh.

The refrigerator door opened, golden strands of light spilling out from the unseen little bulb hidden even to Ben's hand as he groped for his bottle of butterbeer. "That's strange," Ben muttered, "it should be here somewhere." Ben withdraws his hand, confused, scratches his head, and shuts the door, cutting off the seemingly heavenly glow that the refrigerator emitted from its cool depths. He yawns and leaves the kitchen. The boy under the table, hand still firmly around the neck of his brother's bottle of booze, began breathing again, and moved to get out from under the table.

"Oh! And what are you doing with that, my dear brother?"

He froze again, blinking at the fluffy slippers that weren't there two seconds ago. Uh-oh.

"I hope you have a good explanation for stealing my beer," Ben admonished, glaring at his younger brother under the table.

"Um…because I need it to…uh, I need it for…an…experiment?"

"At this time of night? With my butterbeer? Under the table? Sorry, old boy, you'll have to find another excuse, I'm not buying it," Ben crossed his arms and looked down at him, still crouched under the table holding the bottle.

"Uh…" the boy looked for some way out, and tried to dive between two chairs on the other side, only to trip and land at his brother's feet.

Ben takes the bottle from him, "Alright, come on, Remus, spit it out. What are you doing up at this time of night with my alcoholic butterbeer? The truth now."

Remus sighed, "I had nightmares…"

Ben raised an eyebrow, "And this gives you a reason to come downstairs and steal my butterbeer?"

"No, hold on, let me explain!"

"You'd better!" Ben scowled.

Remus scowled back, "I had nightmares, so I woke up, but I have a headache, so I came downstairs for your butterbeer. I helps dull the pain."

"You're a bit young for this stuff. It's called Mick's Hard Butterbeer for a reason, you know."

He nods, and bites back his lip, "Sorry, but I really need it, can I just have one sip? One? My head really hurts…"

Ben stared at Remus, "Geez, people usually wake up with massive headaches after drinking alcohol," he unhesitatingly hands back the bottle to the young boy, "Don't tell mom and dad. And don't get hooked! God forbid if you end up like me! You understand? I'm too tired to argue with you right now…Go to sleep after, k? Put the bottle back where you found it. You don't tell on me, I won't tell on you, got it?"

Remus nodded as he accepted the bottle and gulped down a good portion of its contents, feeling the throbbing in his head decrease with each swallow, "Thanks Ben."

"Whatever. Last time, man. I go back to school next week. You'll have to find some other remedy for your nightmare-induced headaches. 'Night," said Ben as he headed up the stairs.

"'Night," replied Remus, capping off the remainder of the butterbeer and placing it back in the refrigerator. It was four in the morning, but at least he didn't have his headache anymore. Grinning with the slight intoxication that alcohol causes in small amounts and yawning from exhaustion, Remus went up the stairs as well, looking forward to a dreamless sleep.

And now, for the end stuff…

Disclaimer: I do not own Remus or the fact that he is a werewolf. That's all J. K. Rowling's. So's the butterbeer, although Mick's Hard Butterbeer: The Real Stuff! Belongs to me. So does Remus' brother, but I don't care if anyone wants to use him, (as if anyone would!) he's compatible with anyone, and single to boot! ::grins:: Any part of the story: plot, characters, settings, dreams, fluffy slippers, etc. that are coincidentally in another fic are just that; coinciding.

Author's Note: Any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated to Jupiter and back (just watch out for the gravitational field!). Flames will be sent directly to homeless shelters to keep the poor warm. That is all, have a nice day! J

"I thought that alcohol was just for those with nothing left to do/ I thought that drinking just to get drunk was a waste of precious booze…" ~Barenaked Ladies, "Alcohol"