So this is another (very) short piece of Harry Potter fanfic that I found in my dusty writing folder, and after reading it again, I found that I still rather liked it. I figured I might as well set it free from the murky depths of my laptop, and add it to my stories on here. Enjoy (or not, as the case may be)!
Much as I'd love to give Remus a great big hug (as he's my favourite character in the HP universe), I can't, as he isn't real. He comes from the awesome imagination of Jo Rowling.
As the clouds collided against each other in deadly combat, the heavens opened and unleashed a torrent of rain so violent that the nearby trees buckled at their knees. Leaves were whipped into a frenzied whirl, pulled this way and that, ripped from their branches ruthlessly before being driven to the ground under a barrage of water.
The creature scratched and clawed at the door, howling with frustration. It didn't like storms; it had never liked storms. It wasn't something that the creature thought about, mostly because the creature couldn't think, but if it could have put its fear into words, the creature would have told you that storms made it think of its birth. Storms made it think of the attack, all those years ago, that had changed it from a normal person into a monster. Storms made it picture the terrifying wolf-like beast that had inflicted terrible bites on its youthful self. Storms made it wish that the beast had succeeded in killing it, because the alternative was so much more scary and painful than death would have been.
That's what the creature would have said if it was able to put it into words. But the creature couldn't put it into words. All the creature could do was scratch and claw at the door, howling for a release.
A flash of lightening flared, followed swiftly by the deep rumble of thunder, and the creature howled even more. Frantic now, the creature began to prowl around its prison, its fur on end, and its ears twitching nervously every time the thunder came.
Suddenly the air felt different. The creature lifted its nose and sniffed around curiously. Slowly, carefully, the creature inched its way forward towards the window. The shredded curtain – evidence of the creature's frustration – was moving swiftly, fluttering against the window.
The broken window.
The creature slipped its head through the opening, oblivious to the shards of glass that scraped its powerful neck and jaw. Eyes narrowing, it edged backwards, pawing the ground below. When it leaped forward, it was so sudden that even the creature itself was surprised. The fragments of glass that dug themselves into its skin were not even felt, such was the feeling of euphoria that the creature experienced at being finally freed from its enclosure.
The storm wasn't nearly as frightening now. The wind howled like a friend, giving the creature a feeling of belonging. The rain was a river of coolness against skin that burned long after the transformation process. The moon was its father, smiling his encouragement to the child he had not seen in too long a time to fathom.
The creature howled triumphantly, listening to the echo with the raptness of a child being told a fairy tale. The muddy ground was a soft, welcoming carpet after the splintered floors of the prison, and the waving trees were a fresco of family portraits, greeting their long-lost relative with sighs of relief.
The creature stretched its powerful legs and moved its head side to side, loosening rusty, little-used muscles in preparation for the following moments of bliss. The creature howled again, listening to the replies in the distance, thinking, in its limited wolf-like way, that somewhere out there, there could be some companionship, maybe even a family waiting to greet him.
The creature flexed its legs one more time, then pounced forwards, kicking a pile of dirt against its prison. And then it ran.
It ran through the forest, pulled along by the wind, beckoned by the howls that were so near, but just out of reach. It ran through the clearings, sending the debris from the storm into a whirling tornado of twigs, scattering the leaves even further from their homes. It ran past the river, racing the reflection in the rippling water, wondering who would be victor, and who would be loser. It ran when its running companion disappeared along with the water, perhaps to rest their weary legs. The creature bared its teeth in a gloating smile, for it had no need of rest. It could run for hours at a time, maybe even days.
Or perhaps not. Days were not for the creature; nights were its domain, after all, and moonlit nights at that.
The creature was hungry, but it wasn't craving food. Its limited intelligence understood this, and so the creature did not hunt. The scared squeaks and chirrups from the surrounding area did little to distract the creature, for its mind was bent on something else entirely. Its body was reveling in the wide-open space that allowed it to stretch muscles that had barely been used in the last few years. The air itself was enough to fill the creature's belly on this night, and the fresh water dripping down its face was enough to quench the blood-thirst that was normally so painful to endure.
It would be hungry tomorrow, but that was tomorrow.
Tonight it was free...