13.
He had run from them…again. Why did he always end up running from the two who wanted to help and actually seemed to like him? Maybe he was a coward or perhaps running was so ingrained into him that he couldn't actually do anything else anymore. But, he'd had to run hadn't he, he had to get away or he could have done something horrible…then again he already was something horrible, wasn't he? If he weren't something horrible then why would his dorm mates be the way that they were, why would they hate him so much? If he weren't something horrid, then perhaps he wouldn't be where he was now—in a shack far from the school to keep the others safe from the monster that dwelt with them.
Pain, excruciating-maddening-hope to die-bone snapping-searing-agony that seemed to never end. Spine stretching and snapping as it turned and changed positions and reattached to his legs as they moved backwards and his knees moved around. His ribs snapping like twigs and re-growing longer and in different places, fur pushing out of every pore on his body and covering him entirely in a dense golden brown coat.
Why did this always have to hurt so much? Shouldn't he be used to it by now, he had done this so many times… yet it was never easier, never less painful. If anything, it seemed to get more painful each time instead of less. Why couldn't he just be normal instead of a monster? It was something he would always be, there was no cure and there was no place for people like him in the world of wizards, nor the one of muggles…he would always be alone.
The wolf howled in the shack that it was kept in, howling at the moon and the freedom it felt as it was finally freed from the human body that trapped it. It snarled at the walls, the only things keeping it from the scent of the humans that were so close and yet just out of reach. Teeth bared it growled and ran into the walls, ramming its shoulder against the wall. Angry at the lack of progress, the wolf rammed into different walls as it tried once again to break out of the shack and farther into freedom.
The wolf bit and scratched itself, tearing and ripping with a vengeance at the body that couldn't break free from its second prison. It didn't feel as strong as before, as though something had or was weakening it. Something wasn't right, it hurt and was dizzy, not able to run and smash itself into things as it normally did, it wanted to smash into things. However it was unable to do so for long before it tired and had trouble being steady enough to run and bash into things as much as it wanted to. All night it howled, and tore everything apart; nothing with its reach escaped its wrath. It howled its anger, its anguish and its loneliness into the night, feeling as alone as it new the boy felt and it hated feeling like the weak boy who held it captive.
When Madam Pomfrey came for the boy the next morning, at first she wasn't sure where he was. He wasn't on the main floor, or at least she didn't think he was. A search of the second floor yielded no results and by now she was in a bit of a panic, where could he have gone? She searched the first floor again in a near frantic state, she was about to send for the headmaster—thinking that the boy had somehow gotten out—when she came upon a corner where there was a huddled shape covered in blood with what appeared to be some bone exposed. Madam Pomfrey hurried over to the unconscious form, kneeling beside him and conjuring a stretcher, healing the injuries that would prevent her from moving him until she could get him to the hospital wing. He was barely breathing, he had lost so much blood and he was deathly still, not even wincing as she moved his prone form to the stretcher and into the castle. There was no doubt in Pomfrey's mind; this full moon was the worst one yet.
Sorry for the short chapter, however I thought that this was the best place to end it.
Thank you for reading, I do hope that you are enjoying the story so far. Please R&R.