WHO: Jacob Sloper. WHEN: Before sunset on Wednesday, November 25th through to after dawn on Thursday, November 26th. WHERE: An abandoned coal mine in Lancashire. SUMMARY: Jacob deals with the full moon and its consequences. RATING: M for a brief reference of Mild Self-Harm?
He'd done this dozens of times now, but he'd never be used to it.
The old colliery was perfect, really; sealed off well enough by the local council to not be worth the trouble for any curious muggles, and not bearing any magical significance to attract anyone from the wizarding world. It had felt like a miracle when he'd stumbled across it on one of his hikes across the North-West's countryside, searching out new places to hide away each full moon. It had served him well for half a year now, so it was with practiced ease that he used his wand to take care of the locks and chains sealing the mine's entrance off from the public and then replaced them once he was inside.
The rickety, rusted lift that went down into the shaft itself was a little tougher, well past the point of repair by muggle standards, but he had still done it often enough that he could rely on muscle memory, even as his nerves started to get the better of him. As the close, claustrophobic cage rattled its way slowly downwards, his mind always drifted to the worst case scenarios for want of something better to do. The paranoid, maddening 'what if's. What if the lift got stuck halfway down the shaft and he was trapped inside when he turned, left to throw and thrash himself black and blue against its walls until dawn? What if he cut it too close and he turned while the wolf was still close enough to the top to break free, to escape into the night and hurt someone? What if the old, beat-up cage finally decided that it had had enough and decided to drop him the rest of the way?
Trying to banish those dark thoughts as the lift finally reached the shaft's deepest point, he wrenched the door open and stepped out into the dank dark of the tunnel, already feeling the first pull of the moon far above him. He didn't have much time. Quickly but carefully, he started placing his things in the lift's cage; his phone, his wallet, his boots, his jacket, his clothes. Then he took his wand and magically sealed the lift's door, sliding the wand through the gaps in the cage when he was done, making sure that it was close enough that he'd be able to inch it back out when morning came.
Finally, all that was left was to wait.
He tried to tell himself that he was prepared. That the transition would be easier because he knew what was coming. But it never was.
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He always came back to himself in pieces the next morning, bit by bit. His stomach first, nausea and hunger battling it out in his gut to see which would win out. Then the sensation along his skin, cuts and bruises brushed against the cold, harsh ground. By the time he got his senses together enough to struggle to his feet, Jacob knew enough to know that as full moons went, this hadn't been his worse.
Staggering slowly towards the lift cage, each step bothering a different dull ache, he tried to get some sense of how late it was, of how long he'd slept, but it was useless. Getting down on his knees with a grunt, he reached for his wand through the cage's bars, inching it closer and closer with his fingertips until he could grab it well enough to pull it free. Then it was the usual process of forcing his tired, sore body through the routine of getting dressed, pulling his boots back on, magicking the lift back to rusty, shuddering life, and checking his phone once he reached the surface.
He stopped short when he saw his phone, heart caught in his throat as he was halfway into his t-shirt. Missed hexts. Missed calls. Trying to keep his growing sense of panic at bay, he thumbed through a few screens, hoping to piece together just what had happened. Knowing did nothing to reassure him. It had been a horrible night, by the looks of it. People were hurt. People were dead. And he'd been hiding in a hole in the ground.
Starting to pace back and forth as guilt, shame, and fear overcame him, he let out an anguished shout and slammed his fist against the side of the cage. People would know now. Something this big, an emergency on this level, his not being there would be suspicious. He'd fucked up, and he'd failed, and he was going to be punished for it. Everyone would know.
And then one thought hit him; Unless…
He needed an excuse, and a drastic one at that. Something people couldn't question or probe too deeply. Too swept up in a tide of panic and fright to realise just how crazy his idea was, he marched out of the lift and hefted his phone up and smashed it against the rock wall over and over, until it was nothing but scrap and plastic shrapnel in his hand.
Then, he took a deep breath, braced himself, and smacked his head against the rock, too.