DISCLAIMER: (forget to write this last time) I do not own. J.K. Rowling does. And that's the gist of it.
Beated by: undiagnosedEpIdEmIcXXotaku
2. Scars – Papa Roach
One more sip, and it'd be all over, I promised myself, tipping the opaque bottle to my lips. Remus wouldn't be coming back anytime soon, and it was all Snape's fault, the overbearing, greased git.
It had taken months before Remus had given me the time of day after the Whomping Willow incident, and I hadn't hesitated before taking the pale werewolf's offered hand in rekindling our friendship that I'd obtusely fragmented. After that day, James had given me hell for what I had done, but, James, the ever loyal fool that he is had simply proclaimed, "Do something like that again and I'll skin you," before ordering me to fix things between myself and the lycanthrope. And that was James in a nutshell; straightforward enough to be taken as crass, loyal to the point of stupidity, and stubborn as a mule. I don't know what I'd do without the tosser.
When Remus had taken the initiative, I knew it to be the moment of truth; if things went well, Remus and I were back on track. I'm not dense; I knew that it would take a while even if it did go well before we would be where we were before the event. Still, if it all went to shit…I wouldn't know how to take the first steps into repairing matters, because then I wouldn't have let Remus down for the first time it would have been the second and Remus was someone I never wanted to do that to—someone who deserved only the best.
So, there I was; standing beneath the cover of James' invisibility cloak, James, Peter, and I abreast, the normality of the action a bittersweet irony of the last couple of month's escapades. The numbing cold of the wind was a sharp reminder that this wasn't the time for self-depreciating thought, we were on a mission. The moon beginning to rise into the blackened sky, and the wind delivering Moony's pained howl, was the only catalyst we needed to act. I hadn't become Padfoot since that night. Transforming just hadn't felt right without my pack. Even though I had the weight of the world on my shoulders, with the events that were about to take place, the excitement coursed through me just as I imagined the electricity Professor Murasta went on about in Muggle Studies were explained to do. As my sight dulled down to black and white, my other senses heightening to canine perfection, I felt an unexpected jolt of optimism. Maybe it was due to having my best friends with me on this personal quest and knowing they'd be there for me if there were a fall out or possibly it was due to my 'let's get this over with and done with' tendency, whichever of the two, I strongly believed it to be a mix of the two, my friends were waiting for me at the entrance of the Willow.
Following the stag and rat into the burrowed, makeshift hallway, the panic that had been forced away with the sweetness that the transformation had brought was swiftly overtaken. It didn't help that I could feel the rolling tension emitting from my comrades. As we walked through the doorframe of the only room of the Willow and I saw the large frame of the werewolf that I knew as my pack leader idly walking in circles; I thought that I was over thinking the whole dilemma.
When Moony sniffed the air and instantly crouched low to the floor, a guttural warning growl emitting itself from the depth of the werewolf's throat, Padfoot really wished he'd stop second guessing his instincts. Edgily, I eased deeper into the room, bowing my eyes in submission hoping to appease the wolf with showing that he was the dominant figure in this situation, and that I'd do everything that he wanted. The wolf paced closer, the measured thud of each paw hitting the wooden floor and my suddenly laboring breaths, the only sounds breaching my fogged brain. The calculating gaze of the lycanthrope never paused from my figure as Moony endlessly circled around me. Although I knew Prongs and Wormtail were only a few meters away, it did little to hinder the gravity of this test. This feeling of uneasiness was something that I felt could only compare to when my parents sat me at the foot of the table as they overlooked my test grades in the summer; the anxiety of not meeting their expectations no matter how many times you tell yourself that it doesn't matter, that their approval was something you didn't need, was all too familiar.
My token of submission had seemed to be denied as the werewolf's growls became louder and more hostile in range; a sharp bark had my gaze craning upwards only to be lost in the pools of the lycanthrope's heated eyes. The hostility radiating from the orbs that were ordinarily the antithesis of such an emotion held me immobile from any thought of movement. This reaction was my downfall as whatever conclusion Moony had reached by searching my gaze was found and Moony tackled me to the ground, sharp claws etching deep into my skin, my skull meeting the floor with a harsh, reverberating clang. I could feel the hot flow of blood running down my fur and my thoughts were only confirmed as I smelled its irony scent. My line of sight was condensed primarily to the angry werewolf atop me. The smell of the blood and my utter compliance at his violence only seemed to spur the werewolf's need and his claws dug jadedly down my underbelly, and to my back legs. Moony retracted his claws only to have them pin me against the floor, as he lunged in for the kill, me as his prey. An inner part of me, the part that hated myself for all my faults and mistakes, whispered that it wouldn't mind meeting my end here at this very moment.
Just as the incisors grazed my barred neck, Moony was sent tumbling into the opposing wall by Prongs charging into him head first with Wormtail clinging onto Prongs' back, tail wiggling furiously and little teeth chattering together. With the hilarity of that last moment repeating in my head I let the looming darkness overtake me.
`." ^ `." ^ `." ^ `." ^ `." ^ `." ^ `." ^ `." ^ `." ^ `." ^
After regaining consciousness in the boy's dorms, and seeing the evidence of what had preceded coupled with James and Peter's concerned looks, I was set in the firm resolution that Remus could never know what had occurred. Remus was caught in an everlasting nightmare of the horror that was his ailment. I didn't want to cast another burden onto his already weathered shoulders.
Sneaking into Professor Slughorn's personal potions storeroom was the easy part of the mission, as was finding the neatly labeled bottle of, "Scar Remover," the difficult part had come when Slughorn and Snape's voices had begun walking in the direction of the storeroom. Adding problem to disaster was realizing that in my haste to leave the dorm under James and Peter's watchful eye I'd forgotten my wand on my bed. The resulting confiscation of the potion, docking of house points, and weeklong detention with the potions professor was expected; Snape's elated face at the ordeal just brought an icy feeling to the already unpleasant burning in my chest.
Making the potion myself was out of the question as I'd never been proficient at the subject, that was always Moony's area of expertise, and asking James and Peter for help with it was akin to asking a hippo to dance. Letting Remus see the prominent reminder of the night before was just as otherworldly in my eyes, and so avoiding Remus was my new goal. If he didn't see me then there was no problem.
I hadn't expected for him to find me.
That very night I was awoken from my sleep by a harsh shove that left me scrambling to find purchase from the quilted blanket or fear tumbling over the edge of the four poster bed. Annoyed at the unsatisfactory and ill-timed wake up call, I turned to face the person to let my feelings be known to whomever it may be only for my words to fade on my tongue, for there he was staring stormily down at me, tawny brown hair chaotically strewn about.
"I did this to you," he said his voice barren of emotion he fingered the first of the puffy red marks that ran jaggedly down my arm and ran to my calf.
"No, you didn't," I insisted. He gave my comment a scathing glance, begging me to explain.
"That wasn't you, it was the wolf," he laughed chillingly, no humor in the sound.
"The wolf is me, Sirius. No matter how hard I try for the opposite, he'll always be there controlling my every movement come the full moon, just look at what he made me do to you," his eyes never left the marks.
"Well, I deserved it, Moony. I never should have done what I did and this—"
It was silent, Peter's snores and James' soft breathing the only sound present as we stared off at one another stormy amber against fierce cobalt. This was eerily familiar to the scene we had in the Whomping Willow, however, this time we were both angry and both at ourselves and our involuntary actions.
My leg gave a sharp spasm against being pulled at the awkward angle it had for such a period of time and I gave to the pull, repositioning it to a more comfortable position. As I straightened my leg I realized too late that at this angle Remus would be able to see the continuing mark. Speedily I moved the leg in the dim hope that he wouldn't have noticed, the sharp intake of breath quelled that hope.
"Really, Remus, it'll be gone by the next Hogesmade visit. I just need to buy some Scar Remover potion."
The look Remus gave me at that comment made me wish I hadn't said anything at all. "Are you dense? Werewolf scarring is averse to scar removal potions, or magic of any sort. You'll have those scars forever…"
Before I could say anything in response he was gone.
This was all Snape's fault. If he hadn't made that comment none of this would have happened. Slytherin's; bloody wankers the lot of them.
Knowing that I wouldn't be getting anymore sleep tonight and so would be ditching all my classes come morning, I got up from my bed and dug into my trunk in search of my secret stash of Oban's Whiskey.
A/N: Next up: Bullet for my Valentine – Tears Don't Fall.