a/n: FINALS ARE FINALLY OVER AAAAAHH!
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chaser 1, qlfc forum, puddlemere united
season seven, round five
main prompt:
(Dark World Dimension) Write about a parallel world where the characters' worst fears come to life.
optional prompts:
2. (object) Portkey
4. (emotion) determination
11. (weather) cloudy
word count: 1800
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"Sectumsempra!"
The Portkey glows blue, and Remus feels the familiar tugging sensation in his navel as the world disappears into darkness as well as a sudden, tearing pain.
He realises too late that he's falling through the inky darkness… and he can't feel his left hand. All there is is that absence, and a knife-like sensation that immediately dulls into a quiet, calm throbbing.
What happens when someone lets go of a Portkey? He's never heard of it happening before. A Portkey practically glues the holder's skin to it as it glows… but Remus didn't let go. His whole entire hand was severed from his body, and now…
Now, what's going to happen to him?
The inky darkness seems eternal in the long, stretched-out moments before suddenly, Remus is tumbling onto wet grass. He sucks in a long breath. He's bleeding. He's going to bleed out, in fact, if he doesn't get help soon.
He realises too late that he was holding his wand in his left hand. His breathing becomes shallow and quick as he thinks the moments over.
He held his wand, firing off a last spell before he slammed his hand onto the Portkey, trusting the magic of the Portkey after it began to glow to keep him anchored.
But right as the Portkey glowed blue, right before the darkness enveloped them…
Remus blanches as he imagines Kingsley, Hestia, and whoever else had been on the Portkey tumbling onto the sidewalk in front of 12 Grimmauld Place, the Portkey letting go of them… and Remus' severed hand.
What would they think? What would they do?
Maybe… maybe they'd find him, wherever he was.
But first, he needs to save himself before he bleeds out. He holds up the bottom of his shirt to his lips, using his teeth and his remaining hand to tear off a strip of cloth that he fashions into a sort of tourniquet around his forearm. He slowly and painfully takes off the rest of his shirt and wraps it around his stump of a wrist, hoping to Merlin that it'll help.
Remus finally stands, dizzy from blood loss. He groans at himself for not looking first at his surroundings like any trained Auror might do, because his surroundings certainly don't seem welcoming. It seems to be early morning, the sky grey with clouds and the dewy grass covered in a thick, gloomy fog.
Remus staggers.
He needs to get out of here… but he doesn't have a wand, he doesn't have a Portkey, he doesn't have anything. He almost laughs at himself when he realises how dependent wizards have become on their stupid little wooden sticks. Trapped here, he can't do anything except wait to die from blood loss, or infection, or who knows what else.
Who knows what else might be lurking here?
He can't see more than a few metres in any direction. The only thing he can do is walk through the fog and hope he doesn't run into someone — or something — hostile.
It's almost like he isn't moving as he stumbles across the never-changing ground, but it's better than simply waiting to die. The pain is growing in intensity, the shock and adrenaline dying away as time drags on, and on, and on. Every lurch and stumble makes him want — no, need — to scream, but he can't. He is determined to find salvation is this empty gloom, and he can't scream. If he screams, who knows what will find him?
After what seems like hours but is perhaps only a few minutes, a set of iron gates looms out of the fog. Remus gasps at the sight and quickens his pace. His brain is muddled from the blood loss, and he is confused and barely knows if what he's seeing is real or not until he collapses against the stone column. It's solid. It's real.
Remus can barely keep from sobbing in relief. He's not alone. He's not alone.
He gives himself a moment before straightening, pressing the bloody stump against the crook of his right arm as he does so. He winces when he notices that the blood has soaked through the cloth. The sight makes him dizzy.
Man up, Remus, he chides himself. For Merlin's sake, you're too strong to care about blood. You're a damn werewolf. Don't you forget that, Moony.
He lurches towards the gate, and tries to catch himself on the exquisitely crafted dark iron bars. He tries, because his hands pass right through, the bars dissolving into smoke for a second before they pull back together. Remus falls onto the ground, and he tries to catch himself on his hands but he can't. His right hand pushes him onto his left side and his bloody stump hits the dirt, and Remus screams in pain. He instantly covers his mouth, heart pounding. Oh Merlin, oh Merlin, what have I done?
He can do nothing but lie there for a few minutes, heat pounding, mouth covered, trying not to make a sound.
He is wasting time. Deep in his scrambled thoughts, he knows that. Every moment, he gets weaker from the blood loss. Every moment, he gets closer to death.
Is that so bad? he wonders to himself. After all, even if he makes it back, alive, what does he have to look forward to?
Sirius. Yes, he has Sirius. And Sirius loves him for who he is, for the man inside of him. And Remus loves Sirius back.
Yes, he has Sirius. He is going to find Sirius. He is going to… he is going to live…
Remus pulls himself up. He stands. He keeps going.
And soon, houses come into view. Familiar houses with broken windows and peeling doors. Doors with numbers on them. 9, 10, 11, 12…
Remus' heart should lift with joy at the moment, but for some odd reason, it sinks. And Remus is suddenly filled with an anxiousness that he can't put his finger on. But he is fine, isn't he? He only landed a little ways away from where the Portkey is supposed to land. It wasn't as if he was dropped on the other side of the world, or worse, transported to another world entirely.
He staggers up the steps and through the front door, into a horrible silence.
No. No, there should be shouting, and laughter, and a whole cacophony of voices. Not silence. Surely not silence.
The house is completely empty. And it seems… different. The umbrella stand that Tonks so often had trouble with is covered in a thick layer of dust.
Remus supports himself on the stone wall as he thinks on how he's going to get out of this. He's still bleeding out, after all, and he needs to get out of here…
But right now, he's not sure where here even is. This, here, is 12 Grimmauld Place. And it's empty. Kingsley, Hestia, the Weasleys, Sirius… they should all be here. But they aren't. So where is he, if this isn't 12 Grimmauld Place?
The realization dawns on him suddenly. This is 12 Grimmauld Place. Only not the 12 Grimmauld Place he's known for so long; no, this is 12 Grimmauld Place in a different world entirely. The weather here is supposed to be sunny today. Sunny, a little cloudy, but not cloudy to the level of the whole damn sky is covered. Not foggy. And they had left the battle in the middle of the night, not early morning.
No, this can't be, he tells himself. It's impossible.
But as he touches the perfectly preserved painting that Sirius had burnt in a fit of anger a few months ago, he knows it is. And it's real. And it's happening to him right now.
"Okay, Moony, then what are you going to do about it?" he mutters to himself.
"Who's there?" calls a familiar voice from above.
Remus almost jumps out of his skin. Sirius. That's Sirius' voice…
But then he realises that Sirius might not be… well, Sirius. If the Portkey truly deposited him in another world, and the painting isn't burnt, the umbrella stand still dusty… then perhaps Sirius, too, is different entirely.
"Show yourself, whoever you are, and maybe I won't hurt you," Sirius says.
Remus smiles a little. That… that, at least, sounds like something Sirius might say. He holds up his hand and walks into the main area, which can be seen from the second floor landing. "It's me."
"The hell?" Sirius sputters after a long, confused moment. "Lupin?" His eyes dart to Remus' stump of a left hand. "What in Merlin's saggy pants happened to you?"
"Padfoot." Remus winces, stumbling a bit. The blood loss… He's getting dizzier by the second.
Sirius' expression morphs into one of furious indignation. "Don't call me that, Lupin. You don't have the bloody damn right after what you did."
Remus recoils. "Sirius, I didn't… what are you talking about?"
He shouldn't have taken this wild chance… Sirius in a different universe is different. And their relationship is different.
But… what is Sirius talking about?
Then Remus realises that, yes, he traveled into an alternate universe. Of course Remus was obviously still there. And… and in this alternate universe, Remus' history with Sirius isn't so positive.
He feels cold.
Oh Merlin. What had he done?
"You know exactly what I'm fucking talking about. I can't believe you, Remus. I trusted you, and then… then, you killed James."
Remus freezes.
"Then, you almost killed me, Remus! And now, you have the audacity to show up here?"
"I—"
"I loved you." The past tense makes him want to die. "I loved you, and then you did this?!" Sirius screams. He slashes his wand across the air and Remus cries out as three slashes appear on his neck, accompanied by a burst of pain that disappears as quickly as it came as the slashes fade.
"You disgusting werewolf," Sirius growls as he walks down the remaining stairs, each step deliberate and warning. "I will never trust a monster like you again."
Remus squeezes his eyes shut. He hopes that Sirius will be kind, not merciful. He hopes that Sirius will kill him. What is there to look forward to? He can't get out of here. He has no idea how. He's going to bleed out soon, and obviously, the person he is in this world is a murderer. There's no way he's going to get help without being sent to Azkaban afterwards, or even worse, Kissed.
"Get out," Sirius says, his tone broken. "If I ever see you again… I'll… I'll…"
Remus doesn't wait to find out. He flees 12 Grimmauld Place, turning his back on the home of so much happiness and love. He can't look back.