He ran to the toilet, kneeled down and puked.
Afterwards he sat back against the bathtub, breathing hard. Black dots played before his eyes, blurring his vision. He fought for a moment not to lose consciousness.
He laid his head in his hands and tried to sort out his thoughts and his feelings. He wasn't even sure he knew what his feelings were.
He felt anger, naturally. He was angry at himself, at him, and at the whole world in general. He was sad too, he really wanted to just lie down, give up and cry his eyes out.
He was also scared; he was scared out of his mind. His options were so few, and none of them set in stone. If the worst were to happen, what could he do then? He knew no one would shun him, and he would probably be able to make himself useful for the cause in some way or another, but that was small comfort.
He looked down at his hands, trying to take in what they might now be able to do, to destroy. He looked at his feet next; they were no better. He had the potential to become so destructive and dangerous he was afraid what might happen if the worst really came to be.
He dried away a tear with the back of his hand, trying to tell himself that he would be able to control himself, he would be able to control it. But what if he couldn't? What if he hurt the people he cared about? What if he could not stop it?
This is what it feels like to be afraid of your own mind and body. This is what it feels like not to have control over your actions. And it hasn't even started yet, it might not happen at all. It's the waiting that's the worst, not knowing. Caught in limbo.
He lay down on his back staring at the ceiling, thinking about her; how beautiful she was, how brave and strong. Then how frail she was, how easily he could hurt her, how easily he could crush her, or even kill her. How wrong everything could go if he lost control, if the worst were to happen.
Another tear escaped his eyes and he closed them. Perhaps he should move out. Perhaps he should run away. He had to keep her safe, he had to keep everyone safe. There were too many people around him that he cared about, and he couldn't let any of them come to harm, especially not her, never her, he would not allow it. But she would never let him leave. She wouldn't understand, she would tell him to stay with her. How could he say no to her? How would he be able to make himself leave her, to leave them all?
He opened his eyes again, searching the room for answers, but found none. Was he weak if he didn't leave? No, he couldn't think like that, he had to go, there would be too many people in danger if he were to lose himself. It didn't matter what they all said, it would be too dangerous if he didn't leave.
He bent over the toilet and threw up again.
He would pack his bag that night he decided. He would pack his bag then go away. That would be the best for them all. Where would he go? Where could he go? Would he even get to the front yard without anyone noticing? Would he be able not to wake her when he packed and left the room? Could he even get himself to leave her without saying goodbye?
His tears were flowing freely now, dripping down to the tiled floor like raindrops from a leaf.
He knew he would change; he would become a horrible beast. He hated thinking it. He would become a horrible, terrifying, destructive beast. He hated this curse, that was exactly what it was; a curse. Not an illness as some people so prettily portrayed it.
That bastard Greyback, he wished he had been able to kill him. He wished he had never ended up in battle with the frightening manwolf, then he might not have been in this mess. Now he had no choice, he had no control over his own life anymore. He might be cursed, how bad he was cursed he had yet to see. But cursed he was.
Bill Weasley would never be the same again.