Haunting Nightmares


This is just an old short, did I mention short? Short story that includes Remus.

The format and everything I am changing.


10 years later…

He jumped up, the images of the dream still in his head, still haunting him even after ten years. He laid his head back down on the pillow slowly, drifting, still, in and out of sleep… until the loud voice came to him. His ten year old daughter leaning over him at the break of dawn, he jumped up once again. "I'm up!" he said hastily before she had the chance to scold him lightly for not listening to her attempts to get him up.

She left the room, making her way nosily down the stairs. He rubbed his head after dressing. Sitting at the foot of the bed, he thought, mulling things over again. "Why did that have to happen?" Then the thought of his daughter occurred to him, the way Molly and everyone else had treated her like a daughter even though of her condition. He had always wondered if it had been for his own benefit or hers. Telling her had been no picnic as well.

"Look," he looked down at the floor, tears streaking his face in the warm glow of the lamp. He sat down on the bed and it creaked.

Remembering her giggle made him laugh. "This is going to be hard for you to understand, but do you remember waking up hurt?"

He had felt so guilty about that. Seeing her leg, wrapped in bandaging for at least a week, he held back the scalding hot tears that tried to make their way down his face. He wiped them away with the back of his hand and continued remembering the night. "What hurt you… you got hurt because you're… a—" He held her close to his chest and as she hugged him back, as he cradled her in his arms, he told her, whispering, "You're a werewolf, dear."

She looked up at him with huge eyes, "Is that a bad thing, daddy?" He closed his eyes just as he had then. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs. "Daddy, are you going to eat?"

He stood up, rubbing the back of his neck and hugged her. Kissing her forehead, he let her go and made his way down the stairs with her following behind. The Full moon was in two days and he already felt sick. She, as well, had started to acquire the usual pale streak that she got only once a month. Usually up and about, she started to act and feel sick on the specific week. Just watching her, lying in bed because of how she felt, solely how she felt made him feel like committing suicide.

Of course, he hadn't. Not yet anyhow. But every time the thought came into his mind, his daughter was always staring him in the face and the reoccurring thought of her needing him always won the battle. Standing there in the hallway, always at night, trying to explain to her, more lie, about what he was getting up to do. She always ended up being driven off to bed, usually with him behind her to make sure she stayed there.

"When's the Full moon, this month, dad?" she asked as they walked into the kitchen. He waved his wand and led the food to the table where silverware and china had already been set down.

"I think it's tomorrow. Would you please, please, just stop pestering me about it, Selina? It's bad enough I have to see you in bed looking sick for three days," he spoke firmly yet his voice sounded tired, realizing that she had barely made it in time waking him up that morning.

She leaned to one side as she held her gaze on him. Her left hand held up her chin and she spoke, reminding him of someone from long ago, "Fine, go on about your business, just leave me alone in the middle of a stone-cold darkness to rot. No, I'm okay with it," she said as he was about to speak.

She left him feeling guilty. Neither of them had eaten much as she rose from the table. She exited the kitchen and went to her room. He looked at his plate and waved his wand over the table. Everything disappeared and he left the kitchen, sitting on the couch once he had crossed the living-room. He remembered seeing a warm light in her eyes. A familiar light he thought to be cold.

"Kaitlyn," he muttered quietly. Everything, even after ten years, was wrapped around that event, that night. "Haunting nightmares, that's what they are. If only I had never obliged into moving in." It made no sense, but to him it had. He looked up as Selina walked in, her feet only taps on the hardwood floor. She looked caught as he spotted her.

"Sorry," she muttered. "What was that supposed to mean?"

"Aren't you the nosiest daughter in the world?" he asked, patting the seat on the sofa next to him. She walked over to him and sat down. "It's about your mother," he said slowly. She cut in after a few silent moments.

"You said she died—" she stopped, not continuing the sentence.

"The night you were born, yes," he finished for her. "She died because you were born. But I don't regret you being born," he finished slowly and continued, "You remind me so much of her, and yet, so much of me." Yes, that was true. He looked at her, at her eyes, how they shined so much like Kaitlyn's had… her body and the way it move. But she had his interests.

She looked up at him in disbelief. "I know that you hate me—"

He cut her off immediately, "What!" He was harsh. "You think I hate you," he said slowly, questioning. He shook his head, "This is about when I get up at night, isn't it?"

"It might be, yes," she said challengingly.

"That is something totally different and it doesn't even relate—" He was cut off.

"Don't lie to me, daddy," she sad quietly. "You were brave enough to tell me something I would have figured out for myself four years ago. Now you won't tell me something I can just worm from you…" she spoke cleverly. But he still stayed silent. Only when he saw the look that covered her face did he talk.

"When I get up at night, that's what you want to know?" he asked, questioning the matter. She nodded silently, listening. "That is about a dream, more about guilt. But the dream is a thing that actually happened. And that event, your mother's death, just haunts me night after night. The guilt part revolves around you… not in a bad way though," he assured her with the expression that crossed her face. A bitter solemn that he recognized, he'd seen.

"Please, don't do this to me. Your mother's death happened because I told her something of this sort. I don't want to lose you, not now… not ever. Don't do this to me. The only reason I feel guilty is what I've done, not because you're here. And you must listen to me now. Or else, someone will tell you otherwise." A questioning look came upon her face and he ridded her of it with an impatient wave of his hand. "Now, off with you," he said quietly.

She did not return to question him further about the matter. She left him to mull things over, alone and by himself. And she did this to herself as well; only, she took things differently, went down another pathway, a dangerous one at that.


TBC


Moony73