Most used screen-name: andii_shadow
Prompt: #6 Author's Choice
Word Count: 427
Cynthia watched the rain dribble down the window as the storm began to calm. The clouds had changed from their dark near-black color to a lighter, less distinguishable hue. It was like melted rainbow sherbet ice cream, all the colors muddled into a sad swirl of colorless goop. She nodded to herself resolutely. Yes, that was the color.
Remus shifted his feet next to her, diverting her attention from the oddly colored clouds. He looked haggard and weary, too old for his seventeen years. His kind eyes had dark, heavy bags beneath them, making her want to frown every time she looked at him. He was killing himself, slowly but surely, by denying what he was.
She understood prejudice. She understood being the outcast. She was an oddball, a freak. She knew he wanted to satisfy everyone, to fit in, and she understood that desire. The need for companionship and closeness to anyone that would allow it… But she knew what she was and she didn't let it own her and she didn't try to fight it. She was an oddball, and she was proud.
Remus was a werewolf, though, and that was a good deal different from being 'a bit off'. It was a political thing, something born and bred into every witch or wizard that knew about the wizarding world. It was fear and ignorance and it was bloody ridiculous. Was it his fault that he'd been bitten? Infected? Lycanthropy was a sickness, just like Dragon Pox. Shouldn't they be trying to find a cure instead of ostracizing him?
But, as easy as it was to just go along with the prejudice instilled from birth, he had to give up fighting the wolf. Even if it wasn't truly him, even if he was really a good person… he still shared a body with a wolf. And that body wasn't big enough for the two of them separately.
Cynthia shook herself mentally, watching the sunlight peek through the clouds. Did that thought even make sense? She shrugged to herself and came back to reality. Who cared anyways? He didn't even know she knew about his lycanthropy, so what did her philosophy of the situation matter?
"Would you like some help with that?" he asked suddenly.
Cynthia looked at him, rather lost as to what he meant. "Your essay?" She looked down to see the parchment of her Charms homework sticking out of her textbook.
"Sure, Remus." She followed him back to his table, her fingers itching to touch his face, to smooth the worry lines away.