Author: LaDonnaErrante
Title: My Body is a Prison
Rating: K+
Word Count: 413
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, any of the characters contained here nor will I profit from this work.
Summary: Remus' first transformation after October 31st 1981. (Originally written for At the Close over on LJ)

The cement presses into my body, cold and hard as consciousness assaults me. I hear the November wind howling in the trees far above me. I am safe. In the cellar. No one hurt. No one hurt but me. The mental check list begins as I wiggle fingers and toes, feeling all twenty of them. Only one ankle feels sprained and knees are just stiff. I roll over and haul myself into a sitting position to inspect the damage. Bruises have already begun to bloom across my shoulders and thighs. The dark red of clotting blood in the shape of bite marks and gashes is spread across my chest and down my arms.

At any moment I expect one of my friends with blankets and essence of dittany. Sirius, eager to pet and please. Or James, businesslike but with a gentleness that never ceases to surprise. Perhaps Peter, bumbling, but present, right there with you all the time.

And then I remember. Breath becomes painful, impossible. I freeze. None of them are coming to tend to me. None of them will ever be here after a full moon again.

I remember the sympathy card to Peter's mother. I remember the taste of sick in my mouth as I walked through the ruins of Lily and James' life in Godric's hollow, the smell of ash filling my nose. I remember the look of delirium on Sirius' face as they carted him away to Azkaban. And I remember the sadness in his eyes as he looked at me. As if to say, "I wish I didn't have to leave you. Take care of yourself."

What he doesn't understand, what he never understood is just how impossible that is. How am I supposed to take care of myself when my own body is so intent on destruction? He would try to tell me "You are not your body. You are not the wolf." A pleasing fiction I suppose. I am nothing, if not my body. James would have said it was the kind of lie we tell to survive.

But just now, head throbbing and bones aching, I cannot lie to myself.

I am alone. I am the wolf. I am this broken body. I am my broken heart. I am alone.

I had better get used it. I stand up carefully and slowly limp towards the door.