Vague Misery

I found myself somewhere in Northern Ireland. A very small town and the rented room reminds me of the Shrieking Shack. The most haunted building in the United Kingdom. It's been years since a peep has been heard from it. The source of that noise is now sitting with a bottle of cheap wine and a phonograph blaring Tainted Love. The other inhabitants don't seem to mind. If they do, I can't hear them. I can't sleep at all. In a few days, I'll change into a werewolf for the first time without my pack. I'll find somewhere to do that. I'll be damned if I invoke this curse on someone else. Throwing back the bottle of wine, the song stops and I rest the needle with a trembling hand to play it again. Over and over again.

"Once I ran to you. Now, I run from you," I sing at the top of my lungs.

"I run from Mad Eye, Dumbledore. The lot of you."

Tilting my head to the side, I start to laugh. The first sign of being insane is not when you talk to yourself. No, no. It's when you answer yourself. Loony Loopy Lupin.

"I trusted you, Pads. I trusted you with my life!" I stare at the newspaper clipping, screaming my bloody head off. The glass bottle shatters against the wall and I hold the Daily Prophet in my shaky hands.

"I gave you all I could give. You took it all."

I let the clipping fall onto my lap and bring my hands up to my face. Tired and quivering as if I'm going to cry. I can't cry. All I feel is numb inside.

The next morning, my head is throbbing as if a thousand small hamsters are running laps inside my skull. The needle on my record player is scratching the shit out of my album. I remember very little of the night before but the misery in my heart is there. A vague misery.


A/N: Prompt #2 for the If you dare challenge. "Vague Misery"