Disclaimer: Does this style sound anything like JK Rowling? Would the esteemed author select a pen name as ridiculous as angel'streasure? I think not.
Summary: The Mirror of Erised shows the gazer's deepest and most desperate desire. For Remus, the reflection in the glass comes as a bit of a surprise.
Author's Note: This small work of prose has a rather interesting history; it began as a drabble written as a cure for boredom between school periods, then was adapted for a small project for Advanced Writing Studio after I had the revelation that I could work on said fanfiction in class if I say its for the course. Finally, I now present the finished product back onto fanfiction. Enjoy.
A Transformation of a Different Kind
I'm not quite certain of the exact moment it changed, the face in the mirror. Perhaps, it changed that moonless night, our first meeting. The night our lives collided (literally) on the decrepit landing in Her cousin's house. Amid the grim decay, She breathed life back into my crumbling, increasingly feral world.
Or perhaps, it changed a different and much darker night, the night where citadels were bombarded with lightening, and martyrs fell from a skull- emblazoned sky. That night, we sat vigil around our young friend's hospital bed, trying not to see how his scarlet locks blended perfectly with the stains on his pillow and shredded clothes. As I guarded his still form, daring Death itself to cross the threshold and face my chilled wrath, I silently feared that I would finally have a pack after all, as another would join me on this side of the moonlight. I would have drowned in my musings, had it not been for Her contrary voice in my ear, dragging me to the surface. I stumbled over clumsy excuses, my arguments weakened by the furious battle within my head. For the first time in my life, the wolf and I were in agreement, and the part of me that was terrified by that formidable alliance fought like a dragon. But then She took my hand in Hers, Her delicate, fuschia-nailed hand cradling my calloused, silver-scarred one. 'Both hands transform', I though idly, 'both know the sensation of obeying familiar will in a stranger's form'. Yes, perhaps that was the moment I saw a new face in the mirror.
Whatever the reason, whenever the time, my reflection changed, fundamentally altered in that fateful, penetrating looking-glass. It transformed, for I transformed, although for once, the shift could not be readily seen. For before that golden time, before Her, I would see myself gazing back. No, not myself, really, but an impostor, some stranger from another world, who almost could have been me, but not quite. I would gaze into my reflection, but unfamiliar chocolate eyes would meet my faintly glowing amber ones. The stranger's hair would be a uniform, sandy ochre, devoid of the storm -cloud streaks that have blazed through my hair since my fifth summer. His face would be smooth and bare, unmarred by silver streaks left by savage claws. Most remarkably, his features would be bathed in moonlight, the gentle beam at brilliant fullness. The stranger would smile, a wholly human smile, lacking the sly, pointed smirk of a lupine grin.
Now the stranger is gone, vanished into the recesses of my memory. Perhaps he has returned to his own world, or has drifted behind the Lonely Veil. He has been banished from the mirror, replaced by a very different face. Her face. Her ever-shifting face, that, whatever the guise, I always know to be Hers. I can always tell it is She, for Her soul shines through Her eyes and Her smile. Yes, I can always see Her with my night-dweller's eyes. Yet Hers is not the only face in the mirror. I see myself, my own reflection, scars and grey and golden eyes, in all my half-feral glory. Finally, I see not monster, nor man; I see only myself, myself in Her eyes.