Okay, for those of you who read this before, I was going to write several oneshots about this, but then decided to make it one whole story! Ta-da! I own nothing.
The Whomping Willow. It was really a strange thing, now that he thought about it. A tree. That attacked people. Some of the students were frightened of it. Some thought it was just a joke. Some were injured by it.
And it was his fault.
If he hadn't come, that tree would never have been planted. That boy wouldn't be in the Hospital Wing right now. But, he had to admit, it had its uses. Not just guarding the secret passage, though he was grateful for that. But no, it had other purposes. It was his tree. No one else could get near it. Well, a few could. Madam Pomfrey. Dumbledore. Mcgonnigal. But he still considered it his tree.
He was the only one who really understood the tree. He knew that sounded strange, because who really understands a tree? Why would anyone want to understand a tree? Well, he didn't really. Want too, that is. But he did. In a way, they were similar. They were both normal, except under certain circumstances. He was a regular human most of the time. The Willow was a regular tree most of the time. They could both be ferocious when bothered. The tree was just bothered more often than he was, by kids trying to get close to it. It was the same for him. He was bothered by people trying to get too close to him. He couldn't let anyone know. And they would both just lash out a person, showing no mercy, if if people did manage to get too close to them.
And the tree had always understood him. That sounds even stranger, doesn't it? It was a tree. A particularly violent tree, granted, but still a tree. It couldn't understand a person. it couldn't think. But it did.
And he could always turn to it when he was in trouble, when he needed comfort. he could get right up next to it, and, instead of sending him flying, it would gently brush the top of his head with its leaves, as though in an attempt to calm him. It would work. It would always work. He would reach up, like a small child asking to be held, and grab onto one of the branches. And then, aided by the tree, he would climb up the trunk and sit on one of the higher branches.
There were these two branches on it that seemed to be made entirely for him to sit on. They were almost even with each other, one slightly above the other. They were about two feet apart. Lying on top of them with his legs resting on the lower branch and his back on the other, his side firmly pressed against the trunk, he would gaze up at the sky, thinking. Just thinking. Of everything. Of how wonderful life was here. Of how kind everyone was. Of James, Sirius, and Peter. Of his fear that someone would discover his secret. At this point, he would always start to shiver. When this happened, the tree would lower its branches an build a protective canopy around him, as though to sheild him from unwelcome eyes.
And so it was that one Friday afternoon in January, when he was twelve years old, in his second year at Hogwarts, he could be seen running to the tree at an all out sprint, tears streaming freely down his face. He ran towards it, not caring what people must think. Not now that he knew what they thought. He had thought they were his freinds. He had opened up to them, let his guard down. And they had been perfectly clear about how they felt about him, now that they knew.
They hadn't yelled, but he almost wished that they had. They had simply stared at him, cold hatred in thier eyes. Then, Sirius had spoken, his voice a deadly whisper. "Leave."
And Remus had run.
And now, exactly six minutes later, he was still running. He didn't care that it was freezing outside or that he didn't have a scarf, cloak or gloves. The cold helped numb the pain. He ran on bumping into people and not apoligizing. He had actually knocked into one person so hard that they fell down into the snow.
Remus had reached the tree now, and he reached up, and the tree lowered one of its branches to help pull him up. He climbed into his spot and the Willow, sensing his distress, had made the old, familiar canopy around him. He turned his head, pressing his face against the rough bark of the tree.
He didn't know how long he stayed like that, crying into the tree. He just knew that when he looked up, the stars had com out. He had stopped crying, and the tears were freezing on his face. He brushed them away with fumbling hands and started to climb down. When he reached the bottom, he looked back up at the tree. "Thank you," he whispered.
And he turned towards the castle, ready to face whatever was in store for him.
