The Edge of a Knife

By: Dark Draconain

Rated: R (for language, drunkenness, and implicit sex)

Feedback: Is a rare and valuable commodity that I will always love you for.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except the characters that JKR doesn't. Those are mine.

Summery: (post-OotP-AU). The life of a werewolf is not all sunshine and daisies, and remaining an unemotional twat is sometimes harder than it might seem.

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The Edge of a Knife

Part the Second: Wrath and Ruin

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From where I was seated on the edge of my bed, staring in the general direction of the closed door, I saw the silhouette of Nymphadora Tonks's feet long before she said, "Remus."

I didn't answer right away; I was preoccupied with the scratches running down the slab of wood that separated us. Finally, I croaked, "Yes?"

She opened the door and I was met with a flood of blinding light that spilled into my darkened bedroom from the gnarled candles in the corridor. I covered my face with a shaking hand and squinted. "Shut the damn door, Nymphadora," I rasped.

She obliged and said, "So you've taken to brooding in the darkness I see. That's very manly of you."

"Piss off," I said. At that moment, the last thing I wanted was to be coddled. The second to last was to be scolded.

She clapped her hands and the neatly snuffed candles on my desk blazed to life. "For calling me Nymphadora," she said, sitting herself down next to me on the bed with a cheeky little grin spread across her heart-shaped face.

There was something incredibly demeaning about having someone waltz into your room and bully you. There was something horrifically humiliating about that someone being a twenty-something witch with ripped jeans and bubble-gum pink hair.

I shook my head and cradled my stinging hand. I was quite convinced it was broken, and equally convinced that my trying to fix it would result in substantially more pain. I'd have liked to have seen Molly, but given the circumstances of my injury, it seemed a pretty shoddy idea.

"I hear you did quiet a number on dear old Severus."

I grunted.

"You okay?"

"Peachy."

"And talkative," said Dora, getting up and walking towards the door.

I asked, "Is he alright?"

She turned back to look at me. "I imagine he will be."

"Good." I paused. I wanted to tell her that I hadn't meant it, that it had been an accident. But that would mean admitting I'd lost control. "Good."

"Remus," she said. Her voice was soft as she said my name, but the candles flickered and I saw her jaw set. "What the hell happened?"

I shrugged. My ability to articulate anything coherent, or even vaguely reminiscent of speech, was naught.

Dora shrugged back at me in frustration before flopping unceremoniously onto my bed and crossing her arms over her chest. "Fine," she said. "Fine. If you don't want to talk, I'll not talk with you. And we can just sit here."

"In the dark?" I asked.

"No," she said.

So we sat in my poorly lit room, on the unmade bed, not talking together. My arm twinged. The more we didn't talk, the more I kept thinking back on everything that had happened.

Two weeks ago, my best friend had been killed. Murdered. In front of my eyes while I did nothing.

Guilt. Anger. Hurt. Loathing. Guilt. Anger. Fear.

Words. Nothing.

Less than an hour ago, I'd beaten Severus Snape into a bloody heap.

I was a fucking mess.

"You're a right bleedin' mess, Remus." said Tonks.

I said, "Yes."

"You want to talk yet?"

"No."

"All right."

I said, "I didn't mean to do it, Tonks."

I said, "I'm scared."

She said, "Yeah, I know."

"I miss him."

She put her arms around me, and I realized I'd started to cry. "I know. Me too."

"Yeah," I said.

She started crying, too.

And I wasn't alone. For that tiny, infinitesimal moment, I wasn't alone.

I stopped crying and said, "Thank you."

Tonks smiled and wiped the tears from her eyes.

Then the door flew open, smashing against the wall with an agonized crack.

"Lupin!" growled Severus as he stalked into my room. His face was blotchy, sickly paleness accented with purples and mottled greens. From the kitchen two floors below I could hear Molly Weasley yelling for him to return.

"Er...yes?" I said.

"You stupid fucking goddamn sniveling fucking bloody werewolf!" he yelled. By the time he'd gotten to "werewolf" I could feel his spit landing on my cheeks.

"Now, Severus—"

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" He spit in my eye, this time intentionally. Then he punched me on the nose. Hard. I could feel the blood running down my face, taste the copper on my lips.

He was about to punch me again, but settled for saying, "Funny. Your blood is red. Werewolves bleed red, do they?"

"Fuck off," I heard Tonks say. Bless her.

"Get out of here, you filthy wench," said Snape.

I stood abruptly, knocking Snape backwards and causing him to stumble. "Leave her out of this, Snape."

"My, my, awfully protective, Lupin. Wolfish instinct?"

"Piss. Off."

The sneer returned, albeit slightly off-center. "Don't bite, mutt."

"Severus Snape!" shouted Molly from beyond the open door. "Get back to bed this instant! And as for you," she said, pointing an accusatory finger at my bloodied face, "you aught to be ashamed, Remus! Honestly! What were you thinking about? What are you thinking about? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!" she shouted.

I was sick. Sick of sympathy, yelling, screaming. Sick of it all. And at that moment, I decided there was no use pretending to be fine anymore.

I grabbed the thicker of my two threadbare Muggle overcoats and threw it over my shoulders. Wiping at the blood under my nose, I stormed down the stairs, nearly knocking Snape over the banister.

As I pulled open the front door, I could here Molly screaming at me from the top of the stairs: "REMUS JOHN LUPIN, WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS! REMUS—"

Slam.