Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Forum - Round 1

Beater 2, Holyhead Harpies

Prompt: Yawning - Write about someone being possessed.

Optional Prompts: (colour) green, (word) slur

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Warnings for alcoholism, violence, and mild swearing.

A/N: I used the main prompt in a metaphorical sense. There is potential canon divergence and references to canon events.

Thanks to my teammates for betaing!

November 1st dawns bright, clear, and chilly, but the silence is shattered by a storm.

Remus' knees hit the floor, but the dull pain hardly compares to the ringing in his ears. Albus' patronus flickers out of existence, but his message still echoes endlessly in his head — carved into his brain until he dies, the words meshing into something terrifying.

James and Lily are dead. Sirius had betrayed them and gone to Azkaban. Peter had been murdered.

Through it all, his lips form one word — Harry. Harry. James and Lily's son. Orphaned. Sent to his relatives for protection.

Remus stands shakily, hands clenched into fists. He's the last Marauder standing. The only one —

No, a voice whispers in his mind. What about Sirius?

What about Sirius? Remus feels the beginnings of unbridled fury unfurling in his chest, fueled by grief and confusion. Tendrils of betrayal curl around his heart and lungs, squeezing until he can't breathe. Out of all of the pieces of news delivered to him, the report about Sirius makes the least sense — none of it adds up.

Why would he have sold out the Potters to Voldemort? And then, why would he go after Peter? Sirius is the type of person who would die for his friends — or he had been. Sirius Black, the rebel, the one who'd vowed never to follow in his parents' footsteps. How could he have been pushed into the darkness? What could have driven him to such depravity?

Remus' mind is numb, so when he reaches out for answers, all he finds is darkness. Nothing. Nothing but the unknown.

Dammit, Sirius. Remus' knees quake, threatening to collapse again. Why?

Remus keeps his eyes down. No one looks at him anyway — and even if they do, Remus doesn't want to look at them for fear of seeing the pity in their eyes.

It had gone without saying, but the Order had been devastated by the Potters' passing, and multiple chairs around the table had been tragically vacated. Remus refuses to look at the chair next to his — it makes bile rise in his throat, and the same old questions surface.

Why?

And it doesn't take much for him to snap. He hasn't slept in a week, rolling around in the darkness, green light flashing before his eyelids.

Remus jumps to his feet. "What in the utter fuck happened?" he demands, interrupting Albus mid-sentence. Many look shocked by his outburst, but Remus doesn't care. Not anymore.

Albus looks at him, pity mingling with something that makes Remus' blood boil. Once, he'd looked up to this man as a powerful, immortal authority figure. But in the aftermath of a tragedy, Remus sees him for what he truly is — just a man clinging to power, trying to play with forces greater than him. In doing so, he'd failed to keep James and Lily safe and sentenced Harry to a life of isolation.

Is it him you blame, says the voice that haunts Remus' mind, or is it yourself?

Remus ignores the voice. "I have spent a week in hell," he says, trembling, "and no one thought to contact me. I had to learn about all of this from a paltry patronus and the Daily Prophet. Three of my best friends are dead, all at the hands of someone I —" He can't bring himself to finish that sentence. "And you all thought it was okay for me to remain in the dark."

Some of the initial shock has faded, but everyone is looking at him like that again. Like they want to put him in a protective bubble and shield him.

Albus speaks again. "We thought it would be best to secure the situation before —"

"Before what?" Remus slams his hands onto the table. "Before more of my friends' heads ended up on a pike? Before one of his — his minions went after Harry next?" He laughs cynically. "You would have let me find that out from Witch Weekly, right?"

No one speaks, and Remus ploughs on, unable to stop himself, his vision clouded with red. "And what of the Longbottoms? Was that just a little mishap on your end? What about their son? Two infants, orphaned in one night. Job well done."

He shuts his eyes, trying to regulate his breathing, but all he sees is the flashes of green. It plagues him in both dreams and the waking world. He dreams of Sirius' murderous eyes and an Avada Kedavra soaring towards him. The crack in his heart deepens when he wakes up.

He opens his eyes just in time to see startled glances being exchanged around the room, and rather than feeling embarrassed, Remus feels satisfied. A week's worth of worrying and mourning and bathing in the dark had been lifted, leaving him feeling lighter.

"Remus…" someone says, but Remus is done. Done with all of this. He surveys the room, his eyes falling on Albus, and his next words are for the leader alone.

"What are you if you can't even protect those you swore to defend?"

The Order disbands after that, but Remus isn't bothered in the slightest. Good riddance, he thinks savagely, and to his surprise, doesn't regret the thought. He'd been harbouring ill feelings towards the Order but had suppressed them with the intent of supporting Albus' endeavours. Now, he doesn't have anything left to support.

He'd been laying low for a while now, but he'd been tracking the Death Eaters' actions via the newspaper. Bellatrix Black and the Lestranges, to name a few, had been locked up in Azkaban — that would be one hell of a family reunion — while some of Voldemort's supporters had defected or gone into hiding.

Defeated, alone, Remus Lupin had sunk into the depths of despair, dragging a companion with him — a bottle of brandy. He had been drinking far more than he'd ever illegally consumed during his school days. The more he drinks, the less he remembers, the less he has to think.

"Drunk Moony!" Sirius laughs, slurring his words. "'S not something you see every day."

Remus steps forward, only for his foot to catch on something, and he trips, falling straight into Sirius' arms. Through blurred vision, he glimpses the brilliant smile forming on Sirius' lips.

His transformations are more excruciating now too. Before, it had been Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail able to keep him in check, to keep him contained in the Shrieking Shack. But now, Remus is left to degrade into madness by himself, his body torn apart and his home bearing the brunt of his fury. With each transformation, the wreckage starts to look less like a wild animal's den and more like the destruction wrought by someone possessed by a demon. More and more scratches carve the walls, and he has to restore his surroundings while in a weakened state.

Even worse is the voice whispering in his mind. Before, Remus had been able to muffle it and prevent it from encroaching on his life beyond the werewolf transformations. But now, the werewolf delights in the worst side of him, and Remus drinks to silence the taunts, too.

If someone tries to attack him now, they wouldn't find much to fight.

In the crudest sense, it is literal hell.

"Careful now, Moony," James says, his glasses glinting in the morning sunlight. "You were a little…friskier last night."

Remus drinks in James' tattered clothing, exhaustion evident in every muscle, and he lowers his eyes guiltily. James notices this and purses his lips.

"None of that," he chides. "We've been over this. It's okay."

The sheets are bunched in Remus' fists. "Fuck," he swears, wiping the sweat off his brow. This hadn't even been a nightmare, but his chest aches. The memory is etched starkly on the back of his eyelids.

He needs this to stop.

Remus slumps against the wall, the bottle clattering to the floor. He knows this isn't like him, but the sweet bliss alcohol brings him is unmatched. He doesn't know if he's hallucinating, but he can hear James scolding him for allowing himself to deteriorate into this abysmal state. What happened to you?

"I don't know," he murmurs aloud, his words coming out slurred. A fresh wave of anger-fueled energy surges through him, driving him to smash the bottle against the ground. Hard. Glass shards spray everywhere, a few slicing through Remus' hand. He scarcely feels the pain, but scalding tears bubble up in his eyes.

It's almost poetic, really. Remus Lupin, once a respected figure despite being a shunned creature, and now he's pulling apart at the seams.

He's a man possessed by grief. The knot grows in his heart every day and sometimes, he thinks he'll never be rid of it.

Minerva visits him one evening. Or rather, she steps out of his fireplace, unannounced and uninvited. Remus leaps up, drawing his wand, but his movements are sluggish due to his alcohol-addled brain. He's acutely aware of the weight of Minerva's stare, taking in his filthy, dishevelled appearance. It's a far cry from the Remus she'd known before, but she doesn't appear to be surprised.

"Mr Lupin," she says, "What do you think you're doing?"

Remus just glares at her, but she continues to gaze back at him unflinchingly.

"What does it look like?" he rasps. Seventeen-year-old him is outraged by his insolence to his professor, but much older him – grief-stricken him – does not give a rat's arse.

To her credit, Minerva doesn't lose her temper. She just takes a step forward, neatly manoeuvring over a pile of unwashed clothes. "What do you think you are doing, Mr Lupin?" she repeats. Her calmness is grating. Remus grits his teeth.

He chooses not to answer, turning away, only to startle when a hand seizes his shoulder, wrenching him around with unexpected strength. Minerva is glaring at him with blazing eyes and he can't decipher the emotion, but it's strong, passionate.

"What is the matter with you?" she hisses, breath whooshing over his face. "Why are you behaving this way?"

Remus stumbles away from her, taken aback by her hostility. The wolf inside of him rears its head. "I'm fine!" he snarls, thrusting her away from him with ample force. "Leave me alone!"

Minerva doesn't back down, though her eyes are blown wide. "You can't carry on like this," she insists. "Can't you see what you're doing to yourself?" She gestures to the dilapidated room, and Remus winces. "What good are you, holing yourself up and letting yourself sink into this sort of state?"

Her words are harsh, cutting deep into Remus, but they don't penetrate him as they should. "Who are you to tell me what to do?" he snaps, advancing on her. "How dare you barge in uninvited and judge how I have been living my life? You're not my professor anymore, or have you forgotten that?"

Minerva stands her ground, forcing him to halt, and her voice gentles into something that makes Remus want to spit. "You're behaving like a wounded animal," she says. "I didn't come here to express my pity or tell you what to do. All I came to do was to remind you of what your duty is."

Disappointment radiates off of her words, and perhaps for the first time in months, Remus feels a stab of shame that punctures through his shell of grief. What has he been doing? This isn't like him at all — lashing out at someone who he'd admired greatly, pushing away those who had tried to contact him, and drinking himself into insanity, giving in to his wolfish instincts. He had been behaving like a wounded animal.

"I know what my duty is," he mutters. "You don't have to remind me."

"You're twenty-two years old, Mr Lupin." Minerva surveys him over the rim of her glasses, and he feels like a schoolboy being scolded by his teacher. "I shouldn't need to." Her voice softens. "I understand that you've endured unimaginable agony, but you have to continue forward. If not for yourself, do it for them."

Remus swipes his tongue across his lips. He thinks he tastes the meat he'd stolen from the market and torn into earlier — raw, juicy meat, and his werewolf purrs at the thought. The strong smell of blood still lingers in the air, and his mouth waters. He eyes Minerva contemplatively. A bit tough, stringy, but still, better than nothing. He's so…hungry…

"Mr Lupin," Minerva says sharply, unaware of his appraisal. "Have you heard anything I just said?" When he doesn't answer, her voice takes on an edge. "Mr Lupin."

Remus half-turns away from her and gnashes his teeth. "Leave," he growls.

"I cannot —"

"Leave!" The snarl tears out of his throat with ferocity, his hands curling into claws. Already his mind is teeming with gruesome images of ripping her apart; no doubt the product of his werewolf's desires, moments away from being unleashed.

Minerva finally appears to recognise this and he hears her shuffling towards the fireplace. He does not look at her, battling his animalistic counterpart. "I hope you realise the truth of my words," she says softly. "You are better than this, Remus. It isn't too late."

There's a whoosh, and Remus turns in time to see the fire swallow her. The werewolf rips at him from the inside, furiously lamenting the loss of a perfectly good meal.

Minerva's words scratch at him. You are better than this, Remus.

You are better.

NO! the werewolf screeches and Remus collapses to his knees, clawing at the ground. His hands find a newspaper clipping. He blinks and it's shredded in seconds. Blinks again and this time it's the raggedy curtains, his teeth tearing into the fabric. Stop! a faint part of him cries out, but he can't, he won't.

He's not better. He can't be better. And this is what he deserves. He's a monster. Frenzied, he digs his hands into the couch cushions and pulls. Within moments stuffing floats to the ground around him. He finds a bowl. Smashes that too. Soon, he's sitting in a cataclysm of his own making.

The werewolf purrs. Good boy, it says.

"No," Remus murmurs faintly, as he glances around the destruction and then looks at his hands. Had he done all this?

He cries himself to sleep, and when he does, all he can see is green, green, green, flashing before his eyelids. In his nightmares this time, he is the one who murders James and Lily, and then he sees another explosion of green. Now it's Sirius who is laughing, Peter's body at his feet. And then his teeth are sliding through Sirius' skin, causing him every bit of pain that he had caused Remus.

No one can fix him now.