novus_remus (novus_remus) wrote in novus_sceptrum, @ 2009-10-23 21:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | rating: r, when: october 1999, where: private residence, who: remus lupin, who: sirus black |
Characters: Remus Lupin, Sirius Black
Date: October 23/24, 1999
Location: 12 Grimmauld Place, London
Rating: R for brief violence
Summary: Remus and Sirius can't sleep and so talk instead.
Status: Complete
It was another one of those nights.
Remus didn't sleep on these nights. It was impossible. Sometimes he would go to bed not expecting anything but doing it anyway to appease Sirius, to make him feel better; Remus knew Sirius hated it when he prowled the house. Once Sirius was asleep, though, Remus would quietly slip out of the room, sometimes going to the study or heading downstairs to the sitting room, the ache in his arms and legs keeping him tense and the fear of dreams keeping him awake.
Tonight, though, Remus didn't bother going through the motions of getting ready for bed, of lying down and closing his eyes and trying his luck one more time. Still dressed in his day clothes, a thin worn maroon sweater and a pair of brown trousers, he sat down on the couch in the sitting room instead, exhausted and cupping the old blue and white china holding his tea. It felt fragile in his hands, as though applying the smallest amount of pressure would shatter its frame, but at the same time it felt heavy, too full. He held it more for the warmth and out of habit than any real desire to quench his thirst, and when he tasted his beverage it tasted more bitter than usual, the leaves left to steep too long this time around.
He wasn't sure how long he had been there before he dozed off, his body pleading for rest; one moment he was staring mindlessly at the silent radio across the room, and the next he was running through the dark woods, his lungs burning as he tore through the foliage. He wasn't sure why he was running or what he was running from; all he was sure of was that he was afraid, very afraid. He gasped for air as he went, sure that whoever was chasing him could hear his frantic, heaving panting and the strong, frightened thumping of his heart echoing in his ears. Branches scratched at his face, his arms, his legs; he felt the sting of cuts moments before a drop of something warm would trickle down his body, and he stumbled more than once after slamming the front of his foot into a rock. There was a terrible thrill filling him, marking him as prey and propelling his legs forward, his muscles feeling as though they were on fire as they desperately tried to stay upright, knowing that if they failed they would not get a second chance. Whenever he thought that maybe, just maybe he had gotten away from whatever was chasing him and he dared to slow his pace, he heard a low snarl and the rustle of leaves from behind him and above him, and he was off again.
All at once, he burst into a clearing, wide and expansive and illuminated by the full moon's light. The carpet of grass beneath him was short and hard, thin and drying; the cold of the night air, hidden by the warmth pulsing in the dangerous woods behind him, now hit him at full force, slitting long gashes into his throat as he continued, speeding up now that there was less obstructing his way. He pumped his arms as he went, hoping that the motion wasn't as useless at it seemed and would somehow make him go faster - fly, even. And then there was another ferocious growl, a terrible howl erupting from the woods behind him, and Remus wished he could fly. His heart skipped multiple beats before remembering its job, and a sharp pain filled his chest as the muscle struggled to catch up with his body's demands; his head swam in fatigue and oxygen deprivation as he pushed himself, harder, harder, trying to fill his body with more and more adrenaline, until his foot slipped and suddenly he was in the air.
He landed hard, sliding in the dirt multiple feet and littering his left side with cuts and bruises. He tried to stand up, terrified of being still, of being caught, but he couldn't manage to start himself up again; it was as though his body had given up on him, resigned itself to the end, even though he himself was not willing to do that. There was another howl behind him, others joining in the horrible chorus this time, and his legs shook before his knees buckled and dropped him again, rocks cutting into his palms as he landed. His entire body trembled, his throat tight and eyes wide with fear, as he tried to force himself up, to keep going, but it just wasn't happening; the sound behind him only grew stronger, speaking of anticipation, of its eagerness to taste human flesh again.
And then suddenly, unexpectedly, he heard a different sound, one that made his blood run close in his veins; it was a scream, terrible and petrified, a high wail that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It begged for pity, for release, for death; pathetic and submission, an animal just brought down by the pack. It was a voice he recognized only too well, and before he realized it he was running towards it, towards the woods where he knew only death could be found.
He didn't get there until it was too late, but what he saw was enough to make him want to wretch: it was a pack of men, greedily devouring what appeared to be the corpse of a man - except that it wasn't a corpse, he was alive, only his pale hand visible to Remus, shining in the darkness between the feet of the hungry wolves. It twitched, the fingers tight and strained, and Remus could hear the gurgling groans of that familiar voice from the middle of the circle, pleading for mercy and for the end. Remus wanted to say something, to yell at them to go away, but he couldn't; he simply stood there, transfixed, as he watched, unable to tear his eyes away from the terrible sight.
Finally, the largest of the men stood up properly, his face horribly familiar to Remus. Greyback smiled at him, eyes shining, and slowly but surely the others around him straightened as well. Hemingway, Sardonyx, Dr. Masen - they were all there, blood dripping from their chins like paint, shining a vivid red in the night, as their eyes glittered mockingly at him. There was on more, however, still feeding; he looked to be the hungriest of them all, painfully thin and obviously trying to consume as much as he could. Remus felt his heart beating fast, too fast, as he allowed his gaze to fall onto the victim's face, already knowing who it was, and sure enough, there he was, his tangled dark hair glistening in the moonlight, his beautiful blue eyes wide with pain and betrayal. He was still breathing, the poor man; Remus could see the gentle rise and fall of his sternum, and he felt a scream of his own building up inside of his chest, gathering like water at a weak dam fit to burst.
And then the last man stood, slowly and carefully, as though he had just finished some sort of religious ritual. He looked familiar, too familiar, but even once he was facing Remus it took him a moment to recognize him. It was him, his face covered in Sirius's blood, his tongue lapping up the remains on his lips, a piece of something glistening sickeningly in his hand, something that most certainly should have been inside of Sirius, tucked safely away in the warmth of his body instead of exposed to the cold night air. He watched as he smiled at himself, his angry face twisted, his red mouth hungry, his too-bright eyes animal, and Remus's stomach couldn't take it anymore.