Disgusted, I threw the offending piece of literature into the corner of the room with unnecessary force. The cover came loose and pages flew through the air, glad to be free from what, when combined, formed a terrible collection of words. At least, now that the pages were scattered as they were, they could not unite to create something so disgusting as they had only moments previously.
Unwilling to think about what had just raped my eyes, I removed myself from the overstuffed armchair in front of the blazing fire. Instead of the flickering light bringing me comfort, it angered me even more – why hadn't I thrown the book in there, instead?
I looked away from the fire – I no longer wished to think about that terrible excuse for a novel – and stormed into the kitchen to prepare my potion. The full moon was tonight, and successfully creating this brew would require all of my attention. If I began to think of that monstrosity over in the corner, perhaps I would make the wrong potion entirely and end up as one of those creatures.
The thought was so terrible that I banished it from my head, temperamentally dicing dried tail of newt.
"What in the name of Merlin?" I yelled at my husband, brandishing the destroyed copy of New Moon at him. "Why would you subject yourself to this, to this," I paused, waiving my free hand around in attempt to find a word suitable for such a situation. "This torture?"
Remus sighed, resting his head in his hands. He had just finished his transformation, and I knew he was tired, but until I knew why he would willingly burn his eyes out of his sockets, I had to pester him.
"Dora," he groaned, peeking at the disturbing novel still clenched in my fist. "The idea was absolutely terrible. It said it was about the struggles of a werewolf. I should not have read it – whatever creature that book is abou–"
"Don't!" I interrupted before he could say anymore – my ears were already bleeding. "Please, Remus, let me do a memory charm. I can't let you walk around with those thoughts in your brain – you'll go mad!"
He gave me a pleading look. "I am so sorry, Dora," he whispered, raising a shaking arm to the remains of New Moon. "Put it there," he gestured to a spot of the floor. "Incendio,"
The remaining pages that still clung to the spine burst into flame, and we watched as the fire consumed every last inch of paper.
"Werewolf," I muttered aloud to myself. The word seemed odd on my tongue, and not because being a werewolf was bad, but because whenever the word popped into my head, the concept of another type of werewolf forced itself into my brain and mentally molested me.
It had been many months since I had read New Moon, but the disturbing ideas stuck in my head. I could not get rid of them.
Firstly, the concept of a werewolf was completely skewed. According to a Mr. Jacob Black, werewolves, humans that assume a half man, half wolf from during the full moon, are actually very large dogs that morph between a human and this large dog at will. More astounding yet, the full moon has absolutely no effect on these self-proclaimed werewolves.
If this was not disturbing enough, these creatures 'imprint' upon other much younger specimens. Even more grotesque, the imprinted will be of a very young age or of vampire and human parentage. After the wolf has grown up and been a father figure to this child for her entire life, they will engage in a romantic relationship. It seems wrong to have a romance with someone who acted like your dad, even if he keeps the same appearance.
These werewolves cannot spread their condition through biting. Instead, their werewolf traits are adopted when a vampire moves into close proximity of the pack of wolves. This is absolutely ludicrous.
Their transformation is not at all difficult or painful. They do not undergo several pain-filled minutes of agony while their bodies are completely destroyed and a new one takes it place – instead, they transform painlessly and instantly.
What is even more irksome is their ability to keep one's own mind after their transformation. A true werewolf is not supposed to be able to keep their human thoughts during the full moon, but these wolves know what is happening, can understand humans, and, most importantly, are able to control all actions made.
It was easy to conclude that these were not actually werewolves. I banged my head against the wall, furious that I had brought up the topic of lycanthropy; the demented pages of New Moon portrayed a lie so sickening at the word 'werewolf' that I could hardly go on.
Suddenly, I had the urge to leave the room; I ran into the sitting room, where I found my wife reading, and asked her to modify my memory – New Moon had done enough damage.
A/N: To all of those out there who have been raped by New Moon, hate it, or both, I love you.
To all of those out there who actually like New Moon, I don't know what to say. Are you sure you're not mentally ill? If you haven't been diagnosed, please go and get screened for a brain tumor. Right now.
I'm just kidding. I know that you all are entitled to your own opinion, and I know that there are some people out there that like New Moon. I can't understand, but the each their own, I suppose.
And to all of you haters, I'd like to post an excerpt from the infamous Tara Gilebie's author's note to her own Harry Potter fan fiction, My Immortal:
AN: stop flassing ok! if u do den u r a prep!
(That brings me so much joy)