I don't care that it's AU, even though usually I'm totally AGAINST AU. I just really love this piece. I can't help it. I wrote like eight billion variations of her getting bitten so that they coudl always be together, with no inhibitions, and yeah I know it's not the smartest thing ever, but, whatever. I've always loved that dynamic between them. I just wish he wasn't so stupid. You know, not just anybody can love a werewolf!
I hope it touches you as much as it does me, but that's not saying much, seeing as I wrote it...
disclaimer: You've all heard this one before... It hasn't changed any since last time.
No matter what they say, you can't understand it until you've gone through it for yourself. You can never really feel what other people describe to you. He explained all of it to me; he's done it so many times now. When I saw him after, his face all grey and his whole body bespeaking exhaustion, I wanted to cry—still do. He said it would hurt, and I said I understood. But I didn't. I wished I could share it with him, to maybe make it a little better, but I didn't know how wrong I was. He was right all along, and now I know I should have listened. But now I guess it's too late for regrets. I can't remember what it feels like to be all human.
One day I'll be there for him, when the bright disc blinds us, but tonight's my first time, and I'm scared. He was right all along. It's one thing, to look at someone from the outside, and think, 'Oh, it wouldn't be so hard to be you. I'd like to try.' Be careful what you wish for, 'cause you never know who's listening.
He keeps promising it'll be all right, and I try to believe him, but even now I can feel it rising up inside me, as the earth spins away. I'm trying so hard to be strong, and if he wasn't here I know I could be. But he sees right through me. Maybe he remembers what it was like, the first time, a little boy sick with fear, and there was no one to tell him he'd be okay, even if it was a lie, and they both knew it. I'm so grateful for his hands, holding mine, to keep on holding me when I won't know who he is or what I am. He isn't scared anymore, even though he knows what it will be like, how much it will hurt. Maybe he's too tired to care about fear or pain anymore. I want to be brave, for both of us. I keep telling myself this is what I wanted, but another part of me is hissing, 'this is why he tried to push you away.' He knew his warning wouldn't be enough, but he tried to save me anyway, save me from myself. That's the hardest part: the only thing I'm afraid of is the only thing I can never escape. Myself.
He'll go fast, he says, talking quick and soft as the twilight fades, and I can see the stars. Each one burns with surreal clarity, so far away, untouchable as they caress my face with cold, silver light. I nod. If I open my mouth, I'll just be sick. He knows who he is anymore, so he won't be lost as long as I will, he says. When it's done, he'll find me. There is no pity in his voice. We've both been long past that. There's nothing either of us can do about it, 'cept hack it out best we can. It's horrible, watching death creeping ever nearer, knowing it'll overtake you, and all you can do is watch it coming. It's like being terminal. It would be so scary, to watch your death coming, to know exactly when it'll come for you, and you can't stop it or ignore it. Except, I won't die.
It's getting close now. I can't stop shaking, but he sits beside me, calm and cool and utterly tranquil, although if my own innards are anything to judge by, he's fighting just as demanding a battle. Or maybe it doesn't bother him anymore, or its just my own nerves. I watch the sky, wanting to hate it so bad, but I can't. It's not its fault that it's gonna hurt me. It's my own fault, and no one else's. Greyback is dead, or else I'd blame him, and it wouldn't even be a lie. Even though it was his teeth, his infection, I'm the only one I have to blame, even though it was an accident. If accident it was, it was more fortuitous than any coincidence I've been caught up in before. I'm too old for his taste, so it's strange he attacked in the first place, and that only one of us ended up savaged. He bit to kill, but someone beat him to it, and now I'm trapped. Maybe the Malfoy boy issued an edict against blood-traitors and their half-blood bastards. But you don't see none of them all bloody and mangled. You don't see none of them bitten. And now, I'm just another liability to him: I can't hold him; he's the one holding me. I wanted to take away his weakness, and now all I am is another burden, another obligation, another statistic. But he just smiles and hugs me tighter. I hate myself when the tears start to fall.
A brilliant silver-white shard rises above the mountains to the west, and my heart stops. Nothing will happen, not until its full glare is shown, but it sees me, knows me. I can't breathe. I can't see. An alien presence makes itself known within me, part of me and yet not, an evil thing I would beat back, except I can't, because it is me, my own blood, and I can't kill myself from the inside. It won't let me. It wants me to suffer.
His hands go around mine, holding me tight, but I don't feel him. I'm already screaming.