So, this is my first Harry Potter fic, and the idea just came to me last night. I was writing it down in the dark and my mom came in. She was crazy, thinking I was on my laptop or something, and I just stared at her...yeah, it was really funny then.
So, please tell me how you like the fic! Enjoy!
The man stretched his arms out above him, and then he reached down and picked up the potion from his desk. He sat for a moment, watching smoke curl in the air, before he stole himself and tossed the liquid back with a grimace.
The potion was excellent, as it made him less submissive to his wolf form, but all the same, the man wished he didn't have to drink it. He wished instead for friends to share the long night with, friends who would help keep his form under strict control.
The werewolf, for that was his form, stood from his desk and walked out of the office, through the connecting doorway into the classroom. He evaded desks and made his way into the hallway.
His wolf form edged through his mind in anticipation of the coming moonrise, but the man held it back. He entered the Great Hall and wandered past the moving portraits, many of which readied for sleep.
The tall doors loomed before him, and the man ran a finger down one's wooden surface. The door read his magic, and locks twisted open. A single door swung wide enough for the man's slim form to slip through.
The door shut with a clang and the man heard the locks turn once more, though now they were locked behind him.
He gazed in the darkness and followed his nose over an old track, remnants of a scent-trail long-often followed.
He came across a tree, three hundred-yards away from the castle, and bent down to grab a stick from the ground. He prodded a knot in the root system and stopped the flailing limbs of the magical tree from their assault on air and ground.
The man looked into the sky and swore quietly to himself when he saw the clouds had nearly moved away from the moon, full this night.
Shivers started up his spine, but the man suppressed them and ducked into the tunnel beneath the willow. He heard the tree come to life again as he trotted forward in the darkness, head bent.
A mile later, after passing under the tingles of the wards around the school, he reached a trap door leading up off the path. The man pressed it open and pulled his way out. He silently replaced the wooden cover and made his way up stairs close to disintegration from rot, though they had been magically strengthened. He reached the third floor of the shack, and he walked into the first room on the left.
He pulled his wand from a pocket hidden deep in the ropes he wore and cast a spell that removed the dust from the air and surfaces. His wolf was sensitive, and the man preferred not to sneeze as he underwent the painful-enough process.
The room was bare, save a bed in the corner and boarded-up windows, only left with spaces between the planks large enough for the man to see out.
Moonlight shone through the planks and lit upon the man, seated on the bed. His robes, along with the wand, were folded neatly and stored in a compartment in the floor under the bed for safekeeping in his change.
When the moonlight met with his body, the man's eyes flickered to the planks against the window. His grey eyes brightened to amber, and the change began in earnest.
His spine elongated, and a tail of bone and flesh sprouted from the base. Dark grey fur spilled across shoulders that were disjointed, and they moved back as arms shifted to forelegs.
Harsh screams rolled through the air, proof the shack was haunted to the inhabitants of the town far below, though in reality it was from a man in pain.
The man's wan face extended and formed a muzzle, his eyes in a predatory glare. The voice of a human scream deepened to a wolf's howl, and remnants of clothing fell to the ground. Rear paws shot through shoes, and leg bones extended. Joints broke and reformed, more supple in the reverse direction of a human's.
In many painful moments, a man changed from human to beast.
He didn't crave meat or blood, a quality of the Wolfsbane he had been given, brewed by an old enemy. But the man couldn't reach any person or animal as it was, trapped in the magically locked room.
A long, mournful howl ripped through the night, melting fearful hearts into chests filled with pity.
The werewolf, one Remus Lupin, was alone, and forever would be.
His friends, one betrayed, one murdered, one insane, were never coming back.
The werewolf curled up on the bed. Tears matted the fur on his face, as Remus waited out the night and day of the full moon, once again alone.
Yeah, I know it's slightly depressing. However...please tell me whether you liked it or not! I'd appreciate your comments, good or bad.
~Moony