Author's Notes: This kinda came to me as an odd little one shot. Reviews make my day so enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
She's starting to slouch, a habit which she never had before. Her back aches, her feet are swollen and she's pregnant. The pregnancy was the most wonderful and awful event to have ever occurred in her life.
Unlike normal pregnancies, there were no tears of joys. Instead, there was the panic state in which her heart thundered loudly in the small bathroom as she looked wordlessly at the pregnancy test. There was the gasping of air as she realized the test was positive, the scrambling of movements as she knocked off the cup that held the tooth brushes, the dish that contained the soap, and the blasted pregnancy box as she tried to find the instructions of how to read those awful things.
She cried for a solid hour into her pillow, clutching it closely as she wondered frantically what the hell is she going to do? Does she tell? Who does she tell? Who can she trust in this crazy, messed up world she lives in? What about the child? What is she going to do? Oh, what the fuck was she going to do?
It took a week for her to tell what was going on with her body. It happened during a private meeting between herself, James, and Professor Dumbledore. He told them of a new prophecy, one involving a child.
James chuckled as Dumbledore warned them, stroking her hand as he told Dumbledore that Lily wasn't pregnant, she couldn't after all. There was no need to worry or fret, no need to take on the extra protection because Lily wasn't pregnant.
And maybe James realized that he was too confidant, maybe he was unsure, but he took a quick glance at Lily to see her face pale, scared, and tears streaming down her face as she went into another breakdown for what felt like the hundredth time that week.
Though James rubbed circles on her back as she sobbed out apologies, while Dumbledore spoke of plans and emphasized the utmost importance of the child's birthday – it didn't ease the weight that Lily suddenly found on her shoulders.
If he believed the prophecy, would he go after her child? If she failed to protect her child, then the wizarding world was doomed. Who would save them if her child didn't?
But what type of mother would she be if she exposed her child to the cruelties of the world, the ugliness of humanity and the deception of life?
And when was she going to collapse with the weight of it all?
It's dirty here. The dirt and grime, the bodily fluids of others are washed all over this tiny, cramped underground cave that he was suppose to call his home. A home, in which he clearly didn't belong in.
He couldn't stand the howling laughter or the smell of blood that was always everywhere, in his hair, the rags he wore, and in his own bed. He couldn't stand the stories they told, the woman they've raped, the children's throats which they ripped out. He absolutely hates it here.
His stomach is in a constant rumble. The smell is so prudent; the food is so awful on so many different accounts. Sometimes, he could taste the human on the bones, and images of happy families and children fill his mind. Or perhaps the carcass of the animal is so bloody that it's impossible to tell what it is. He couldn't eat and when he does eat, he throws up all of the food.
But he has to blend in, he has to find out the little information he could. He has to sit there, like a good wolf, and listen to what these monsters have to say. He has to find a way to convince them over to the good side. But it's a loosing battle, for who would want to be on the side in which society doesn't even deem them human? What living thing would want to be apart of community that despises them?
But if he doesn't try, if he doesn't convert them, if he doesn't say his own small, feeble speeches – then more will join his side. More werewolves, giants, and goblins – because if one species of a monster joins, so do the others. And if they joined his side, then he will win.
And that very thought makes Remus heave, throwing up all the disgusting food and thought. Making him weaker and smaller in the battle field.
He literally had no air in his lungs when they first came and visited him. The hand clutched him tightly around the throat, a wand pointed directly between his eyes; it wasn't very hard to imagine death. To envision the painful steps he could have to go through: the insults, the taunts, and the jerking of the body in hopes to gain a few seconds of life.
He wasn't hard to convert to the other side, but the gripping hand never left him.
He had to find something about the Potters to live. Well, that wasn't too had when Lily became pregnant but he then had to find out more and more. What were they doing? When was she due? What is going on?
The constant questions and the lack of air were getting to him. The answers, he easily supplied, but then what? The day James made him the secret keeper he didn't know how to react.
Was he happy because he could tell him something that could save his life? Information big enough to spring him from his traps?
Or was he sad, angry, frustrated at this fucking situation he was in because he would have to tell him this news, he had no choice. He couldn't lie, he could avoid him he had to tell the truth. Unless, he accepts death with open arms.
But that was silly and stupid. He has no courage to kill himself; he has no strength to hurl himself off a cliff or to point a wand to his head. He simply doesn't have it in him.
So he tells him and feels hand gripping his throat even harder, making it impossible to breathe.