First, I feel the colours and taste the sounds. Then I see the people.
That's how I try to do things.
~o~
The sky is a dark velvety purple, fading into luscious teals and plush, royal blues. The night wraps itself around the sore castle, cushioning the blows, trying to comfort the poor souls inside. The midnight hues are warm, fluid and soft. But the cosy dark cannot hide the pain. Stabs of bright light try to touch me through the silken air, but nothing can hurt me. Neither words nor spells can harm me.
But do not fear me, for am all bluster. I am not a being. I am a result.
Screams shatter the silence. They are pungent and salty, filled with the taste of fear and adrenalin. Hot sweat stains the silken air, merging with the cries of terror. I breathe in the briny sounds, trying to tell each of them apart, but I fail. It is just one salted mass of horror.
Sometimes I savour the toffee mumbles of loved ones. It is an indulgence as sweet as honey. Their lips form the caramel sounds of helpless reassurances, trying to hold onto their futile hope that the dead souls will return to their bodies. This confuses me. The living have always tried to console the dead with sugary, useless words. As if your sweetness will help them now.
You will all understand one day.
Now, I know I must look at the 'survivors'.
Collecting the free spirits has never bothered me. I have carried the souls to and from your world for all of time, and I have never complained – not that there's anyone to complain to.
It's seeing the living that makes my job hard work.
~o~
As I walk unnoticed through the crumbling castle, a small, dark haired girl runs past, and almost knocking into me. She fires a red hot jinx over her shoulder, and a tall man in dark robes crumbles. I watch her innocent face light up with pride and glee, with a sad tug at my heart. She was far too young to have ever experienced such furious emotion.
Are you surprised? Yes, I do have a heart. I just never act upon it.
I linger for perhaps a second too long. In a second (which could last several years for me) she had gone. But I do not follow her. She is not my quarry tonight.
No. I see him almost at once.
Well, my friend, I haven't seen you in a long time.
I know this man well. I had met him a few times, but only in passing; I have collected several souls over the short years, before his very eyes.
First his brother's, but he never spoke of that. He didn't even admit to himself that it was partially his fault that his brother's spirit had had to leave this world. I remember seeing him kneeling over his little brother's body. "No!" he had whispered, but there had been no hope for the little boy. The bumper had knocked him clear. A poppy bruise had begun to form on the temple of the four year old. Remus looked at it, tears forming in his eyes. He had howled.
More followed after the baby brother. When he had joined… oh what do you call it… the Order of the Phoenix, he had battled many. He had fought valiantly, to try to defeat the man who was attempting to evade me. Many souls had been freed. Friends and comrades alike had fallen before this man, but although he was an outcast in his society, he had battled on.
The warrior.
Remus John Lupin.
Occasionally I arrive just on time, and now was such a time. Remus accepts the curse with a small, soft cry of shock. His face glows from the green light, which makes his grey-blue eyes flare with a delicious emerald gleam. The brown, flecked hair waves in the wind of more spells as the body falls slowly to the floor. His mouth is a small "o" of surprise, his eyebrows are arched high. The body of the werewolf lands on floor with a firm thud.
Life is over for Remus John Lupin. Something better has begun for him
Usually I have to scoop up souls from their prisons. Even if they are not afraid of what lies beyond, they are normally scared about leaving the bodies behind. The soul has spent its whole life encased in blood and bone. Being free does not come easily.
But not for Remus. I reach the jail of flesh and reached out my hand to lift him out, but something unexpected happens. Just as I am about to gather Remus in my arms, I pause. The soul rises to meet me.
Let me tell you: that only happens with the best of them.
Where am I? the soul asks me. I know that when he enters the next life, he will not remember meeting me. He will remember just before and just after. I will be forgotten.
This never makes me feel sad, on the contrary. I am quite pleased that you souls don't remember me. I may be amiable, but I am quite terrifying.
You are in between this life and the next, my friend, I say to him. I cradle his brave soul and I allow myself a shred of remorse for this courageous man's death.
I take Remus in my arms and carry him away. I hope dearly that the afterlife is kind to Remus. He has had a hard life, full of shame for his being a werewolf, guilt for the participation in his brother's death and hopeless grief.
Remus deserved better than life.
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