Beneath an Unforgiving Moon

There are only two reasons that I write this.

The first is that he promised me that it would be published for the masses to read. Were it not for him, I'm sure it would never see the light of day – just as I will never see the light of day again. I tend to believe him, however, for he has never lied to me and has honored his word.

As I have never lied to him, and have honored mine.

The second is, that while I do not expect your forgiveness (or your understanding – what a naïve thing that would be!), I feel some strange need to share how I feel about that which I know to be unforgivable in your eyes. Now that I think about it, there are even some like me who will not understand what I have to say.

Nor will they forgive me.

It is not easy to be unaccepted – an outcast, a pariah, even – by your own kind.

But I have long since accepted that.

I have long since accepted many things.

Of my guilt, I can only say this – I have none.

I have no guilt to forgive.

Of your perceptions of my guilt, I can only say this – I do not expect (nor do I seek) your forgiveness of such.

I am far beyond that.

I am beyond forgiveness (in your eyes). I am beyond reason. Some would even say I am beyond madness.

But I am not beyond suffering.

And isn't that what you want?

To know how badly I am suffering?

To know how badly I shall suffer for – very likely – all of eternity?

To know that I shall, in vain, howl out the rest of my meaningless days in a cold and dark place, far away from any other living thing that I might harm? Far away from any other living thing that I might love?

Yet there is another difference between us. One man's perception of harm may well be another man's perception of salvation. But I feel that I shall remain here forever, in this lonely place where you have put me, without ever knowing either again.

And perhaps that is what I deserve.

So, do you wonder why I bother, then? Why do I write this, disgusting as you will – no doubt – find it?

Because it was his idea.

Because he came to me, a man on the verge of being broken, as I once was.
Broken, as I am.
Broken, as I forever shall be.
Broken, so very long before I ever even conceived that I would end up here because of my actions.

But it was what he told me what he had learned, and from his actions, as I have seen them, I tend to believe him. That, and I could not bear to see another endure that which I have endured.

No, I will not wish that upon anyone.

He came to me, as I said, desperate for my counsel.

And I gave it willingly.

We have never lied to one another.

He told me there was more to come when this life ends. I suppose he should know, since he's been there and come back. Unkillable, some say. Only time will tell…

Some call him "The Master", but I cannot speak to that end. I really do not care. It is irrelevant to me. He may or may not be. But if there is indeed an end to this horrible and lonely existence, an end to this life drowned in darkness, then I dare not run the risk of being plunged into yet another – even longer – darker existence.

I will not follow the one of whom he spoke – the one who chose eternal damnation over the humility of one simple regret.

I honestly do not know why he shared this with me; certainly we owed one another nothing. But yet he told me. He told me, despite how repulsed he was – how repulsed he still is – by my past.

The past is the past, and none of us can alter it.

But unlike his mortal enemy, I do have regret. Perhaps that will prove to be my salvation? But again, I have no guilt over what I have done. There is nothing for you to forgive!

…Ahhhhh – well, one tiny bit of guilt…actually, not a 'bit'. Calling it a 'bit' would be like calling the great stones of Stonehenge 'pebbles'.

Therefore, I must confess this guilt that I realize, this guilt that causes my regret. And I confess myself mistaken.

What I did to cause myself this one grief that torments me night and day is something that I did in a moment of heat. I lost myself in the moment, knowing full well that I was capable of such a monstrous act. And while it was fully in my power to stop it, I did not. I acted out of desire, yes, but it was misdirected. I lost myself. I wanted to do it, yes, I confess – but not to that one.

To someone else, oh yes. To so many of them, yes. Because I felt that they deserved it. I had judged their kind during the course of my lifetime, when I was free. I judged them all – and I found them sadly wanting. They deserved the wrath that I spent my life pouring out upon them, and NONE of that do I regret. For none of those acts do I feel guilt. What I had decided to do – what I did – needed to be done for our greater, common good.

And I enjoyed that which I did.

This did I admit to him when he came, surprising even myself that somehow, I suddenly found this one man – this very representation of all I had come to hate since my own childhood – to be worthy of my explanation and counsel. While his coming did not absolve the rest of his race, however, it at least absolved him (in some small way).

I have done what I have done, as I told him; as I am telling you all.

I wanted to do it.

I wanted to do it to them all, and again, for that I have no guilt. I preached to those who are like me, those of my race, and for that I have no guilt as well. I encouraged them to do as I did, for those like this 'Master' deserved it. Or so I thought – then.

They deserved to suffer, even as we had suffered.

They deserved to die, even.

Yes, I wanted to kill them.

But only after they had suffered. And we made sure of that, oh yes! So many of them died at our hands, and we rejoiced in the suffering that we had wrought.

Because they deserved it.

They deserved it for how they had treated us.

But I made a mistake.

I made a mistake that drove me to madness.
A mistake that could never be undone.
A mistake that can never be forgiven.
Never forgiven, especially by me, for me.

I wanted to do it, yes. And as I have said, I did it and did it so often and so well.

But I never wanted to do it an innocent little child.

And it was only because of another innocent little child that I told him my story when he came. It is only because of him, and his dedication to this other innocent child, that I even bother to tell you.

But I will first tell you about these children, as I told him…

The first:

A child.

This child's is the face that will haunt my nightmares forever. His is the face that I see when I close my eyes, just as his is the voice that I hear in the silences of the darkness when all others have fallen quiet.

And while he is gone, he is always with me.

I think he is sadder than I am, actually.

If that is even possible.

He is the one bit of remorse that I have.

Sometimes, believe it or not, I weep over his memory.

My sin upon him, I feel, is the only sin I have ever committed. You will see this differently, I know, and I do not hold that against you, for you cannot comprehend it. But I can. I can also understand that, and how it came to pass.

But I cannot forgive myself this one, only sin.

How can I therefore expect anyone else to?

I cannot.

Now comes the time for confession, though:

I murdered a child.

Some of my kind will say that the child is better off. They will say that I spared him an almost endless physical life of pain and suffering. I spared him a lifetime of being an outcast and unwanted, feared so greatly, that even in acts of kindness with best intentions, he would be hated and driven out. Some would say I did him a kindness in killing him.

But I didn't mean to.

I didn't want to.

I only wanted what was best for him.

I wanted him to be with me.
I wanted him to be like me.
I wanted him for my very own.

But so great was my passion – my love – even, YES! -Love. I loved the child. And it was that love with which I destroyed him when that love ran away with me.

Perhaps if I had been loved, when I was a child such as he, then none of this would have happened. Perhaps if the love that I had known at one time had not been brutally taken from me, then that child would still be alive. And perhaps, just perhaps, if they that had once loved me had only taken the time to understand and help me, when I was in such dire need, none of this would have happened at all.

I could easily lay the blame for this one, great sin upon those who stopped loving me.

Yet I will not.

Only I am to blame, and only I can be held accountable for that sin.

You see, they didn't love that child. I watched them. I came to know them. I saw how they treated him. They did not deserve such a beautiful and gifted little boy. I knew that he would be better off with me, and my only desire was to bring him to me and take him away from them that didn't love him enough.

To take him away from them that would hurt him.

I knew when I first saw him that this time would be different. This time, it would work. This time, the little boy would come to me and return that which I so strongly felt for him. He would, because those that had him would not. He would not be like that other ungrateful child, the boy who had rejected me. I had seen that in this new one.

They didn't deserve him.
I did.
I wanted him.
And it was in my power to take him.
It was in my power to take him, just as I had taken that other before him.
It was in my power to take him to a place from which he could never return to them.

He would accept me; I could sense it. He would be my son, and I would be his father. It would all be so perfect. He was all I ever wanted.

A son.

The son I could not have.

He would be the son who would continue with me, not like the son of my own blood, who through some cruel trick of nature, left me in a place almost as bad as this place where I now find myself.

And certainly not like that first one that I had chosen – he who rejected me and my kind in favor of your kind.

No, this new child would lead me out of the darkness in which the first two had left me.

Until it all went so badly wrong.

His blood still stains my hands. It still stains my teeth. It still stains my very Soul – if I even have one. (I must have a Soul, for if I did not, then how could I hurt like this?)

The pain of losing some physical part of myself, the pain of being rejected by even those who needed me, is nothing compared to this. I do not think that even forgiveness of such guilt, were it even possible, could ease this pain.

But doesn't this bring us to back to when I found myself in the same predicament? Doesn't this bring us back to how you all treated me – and all others like me? Even the helpless little children like me? Like us?

When I looked upon this child – these children – of yours, I saw myself.

Yes, myself!

As horrible as it may sound to you all, we were the same.

If there is anyone who should seek forgiveness to this particular guilt, then it is you. You, and your entire world. For it is you who drove us here. It is you who gave us no choice but to inhabit this cold, dark place.

In fact, it is you who helped spread our curse. It is you who drove me to it. It is you who drove me to try and amass an army of followers to bring suffering upon you.

It is you who drove me – drove us - to steal away your children, to take them as our own. Perhaps that could have been different, too, had you simply not sat back and watched as our children died.

But then again, you wanted our entire race gone.

Had you only understood me. Had you only helped me… Was one night a month too much to ask from you? Was one defect in the perfection of my childhood so hideous, that you could no longer stand to even look at me? Was that one flaw enough to make you want to drive me out, to drive me to become what I did? To drive me to do what I did?

You brought me to this.

You rejected me when you should have helped me.
You cast me out when you have rallied 'round me.
You wounded me, instead of tending to me.
You hit me when you should have held me.
You hated me when you should have loved me.

You made me swear to myself that when I was older, I would never do to another what you did to me.

And that was why I did it.

That was why I came to take that first little boy. He is the second child will now tell you of:

I came for him under a full moon, late one night. You were negligent, oh yes you were! You thought him safely asleep in his bed, when in fact, he was out wandering around after dark. He was looking for his teddy bear, which you didn't help him to find during the safety of the daylight.

And he was so happy to see that I had found it. He loved dogs, did he ever tell you that? Of course he did. He wanted a 'doggy' so badly, but you said no. I'm sure that's why he came so willingly to me – that sweet little face, smiling, saying, "Thank you, thank you, Doggy!" as he took the teddy bear from my jaws and hugged me in gratitude…

Oh, to feel that kind of affection again. Such pure, innocent love.

…and I took him by the shoulders then, giving him the kiss – the gift – that would forever take him out of your pathetic excuse for care and permanently place him into mine!

It hurt him at first, yes. But the hurt would pass. I honestly tried to be gentle with him. He screamed, of course, and it hurt me to hear it. He cried, and I tried to comfort him as my gift flowed into his veins forever.

And in time he would come to love me, as I loved him.

Until you interfered.

Oh, it seemed fine at first. You drove me off, having heard his frightened cries. You took him home to tend his wounds. You called in the finest of care. You did everything humanly possible for him.

And you lied to him.

You told him the bad news.
(Bad, as you saw it!)
You made him feel different.
You made him feel unworthy.
You made other children afraid of him.
You condemned him to a friendless, lonely life.

And once a month, you locked him in chains and abandoned him like a wild animal!

Then you sent him away to school. Someone else offered to take on your problems, and you were relieved. They said they could help him, even though they never offered to help me.

You got his hopes up, and like always, your kind dashed them.

Yet once a month, when the moon was as unforgiving as I, I came to him.

But always did he reject me.

He rejected me, because you had poisoned his innocence with your foul lies.

You turned him against me.

Again, my son was lost to me. Twice had my heart been broken, and I thought it would never mend again.

The boy went his way, and I went mine. We sought different things, and when I heard of his new friends, I rejoiced. I harbored some glimmer of hope for this boy then. I even came to watch them in secret, as the four of them roamed the forests in a form that I was no threat to.

Yet I never approached them.

The boy had made it clear to me, just as you had taught him, that we were not meant to be together.

It would not be for many years, and one unforgivable sin later, before we ever met again.

I pined over him for so long, until my heart was finally healed enough to seek out another.

Or so I thought it was healed.

I made a mistake, and a child died.

Grief like this, now that I confront it, is something that no man or beast should ever have to bear. But in confronting it for you now, you have finally done something for me. A bit late, yes, but you have made me realize the connection I had never contemplated before:

Little Montgomery's blood is on your hands as well!

I have guilt, yes. But you must now share in it, for what you did to me.

And since I cannot forgive you, then you, therefore, cannot forgive me.

Oddly enough, it would now seem that you have inadvertently done me a favor. For this has made me realize that the guilt, which I have borne for so long, was never mine alone to bear.

As for all of this regret that I bear in the matter that is the failure of little Remus John Lupin, I now understand that my chance for redemption lies in the hands of Harry James Potter.

Harry Potter, he who destroyed the lying Dark Lord who promised me such a bright future. You see, I would have turned on you, too, Lord Voldemort! When I saw your minions killing innocent children, I knew then that I had no choice but to turn upon you.

A wolf never harms his own pups.

But you did.

When even your sacred Purebloods denied you, you kill them, along with their entire families.

Liar.

Just like the rest of your lying race.

And when Harry Potter sought my counsel, when he came to me in desperation for the sake of baby Teddy Remus Lupin, I knew that my time had come at last.

I knew that I could make amends for all the wrongs that you made me do.

Wizards and Witches.

How I hate you!

Of that, I feel no guilt.

None.

And if any of you so much as look at little Teddy Lupin the wrong way – if you ever make him shed so much as one single, bloody tear – then I swear to all that lies above and beneath the unforgiving moon, that I will find a way to break free and avenge myself, Remus, Montgomery, Teddy, and every other child that you would hurt, upon you all!

Forgive not my guilt, Wizards – forgive your own…

…if you can…

…for I cannot…

I will not!

Sincerely,

Fenrir Greyback
Werewolf Extraordinaire
Azkaban Prison