A/N: (okay, so in advanced, I began writing this, several months ago, as two beginnings. But it was a really awkward transition, so I'm making it into two separate beginnings.)
I own nothing.
Beginnings
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Days of pain followed, Remus didn't think his head could ever hurt this badly. It pounded sickeningly; a slow, unsteady pulse that sought to overpower his body, sometimes supplying additional nausea to his already frail state. His stomach ached in hunger, yet heaved up his meals after he could find an appetite. He slept away most of the day, drowsy from the battle raging in his blood, but if he did awaken, the light hurt his eyes so badly he would bury his face in his pillow.
At night, John would sit him up, making sure Remus was improving. He took his son's limp arm in his hands, rotating it gently at the injured shoulder, where a gouge sought to be healed, and dug down into his muscles. If the pain got to be too much, lessons began.
"Spell high."
Remus squinted his eyes against the stinging in his arm and took a breath.
"High. H-I-G-H."
"Correct." John's voice was soft and soothing. "Spell might."
Remus stuck his tongue to the side of his cheek, and spelled "M-I-G-H-T."
"Good." John moved his arm a little further. "Last one. Spell height."
"Height." Remus thought hard. "H-…..H-I…. no…"
"Take your time" John moved the arm further. "Height. Height."
"Height." he repeated. "H-….. H-E-I-G-H-T! Height!"
"Excellent Remus!" Remus didn't notice how far his arm had been moved.
The days went by slowly, but soon, Remus was well. He left his bed, ate bread and soup. His arm grew a little stronger. One thing that didn't improve, however, was Mary.
His mother didn't seem to have a son anymore. She barely said a word, and Remus wondered why. John said she would come around, and she was just sad because her baby was hurt. Remus heard his parents yelling in the kitchen, and didn't entirely believe him.
Yet, Remus remained Remus. He could only watch as his own eyes changed from cobalt to gold, and his hair grew alarmingly fast. He was changing. He just didn't know why. It was only a bite, wasn't it?
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The pain in his head increased with each passing step, convincing him even more so that he should go back to bed, but John's hand on his back kept him moving. Down the stairs and out the kitchen door, John wrenched open the rusted hinges of the metal cellar door. Mary watched from a distance as Remus descended into the dark ground.
Through the shade of the cellar Remus could see flawlessly. The ground was cool, moist and bare, stacked with crates and barrels pushed up against the raw plank walls. In the center was an old wooden bench recently removed from storage. Atop it sat a neatly folded blanket.
"The moon will be up soon." said John softly, leading his son to the bench. "Just relax, alright?"
Remus nodded, and sat, grateful to be off his feet.
"I'll have to lock the door. Just to be safe. And I'll come get you in the morning." He draped the blanket over his son's meek shoulders. "Everything will be fine." he whispered. He stepped away slowly, and made his way up the stairs.
Remus drew his blanket closer as the doors closed tight. He heard the snap of a lock, and then, there was silence.
Remus knew when the moon rose. He didn't see it. He smelled it. He tasted it. He felt it like a chill of cold air on his back. It was a perfume of spring rain, and ocean mist. His nose stung, and his fingers tingled, as if from lack of blood supply. He nearly smiled, his senses heightened and mind alert, when the aching in his head halted. The good feeling left as pins and needles encroached. His body twitched, and Remus jumped up from the bench, as if from electric shock.
His nerves were tingling uncomfortably, everything working in slow motion. First at his fingers, and toes and feet, then wrists and ankles, up his legs. His skin burned, and numbed. Remus pulled his blanket tighter.
The silence was broken by a howl. He heard it from inside himself. All of a sudden, his nerves felt on fire. He shouted out in pain, dropping to the ground as dead weight, writhing.
He listening to the snapping before his felt it, his ribs breaking one by one. His eyes bulged in agony. The howl continued, calling out to the moon, a puppet mistress, pulling at his body to mold it to her desires. Growls, and howls, speaking in rhythm and rhyme to an empress. Her sensation of skin being pieced by needles contorted him, stretching and molding. She was an artist. A goddess. Frightening and powerful. But Remus didn't have time to fear. A howl raced across his lips. From the back of his mind it summoned blackness, the vicious thing he saw only in his nightmares. He shouted, screaming as his nerves and the moon light burned him alive. The wolf consumed him into the night.
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Please please please review!!!!
Again, sorry for the short length, the next chapter will be up shortly.
