Wait why am I in this godforsaken planet
The Hofmannophila pseudospretella is one of the most common moth on this magnificent Earth in which we all stand today. Except if you are an alien reading this of course, in which case, womp womp. Back to the story.
A charming demonstration of this species would be this brown house moth of way back in the beginning of summer, 1976. It has happened to fly at the speed of three kilometers per hour inside the posh, posh house of a broken family in Wales, landing on a potted succulent of a teenager's bedroom wooden window.
This story is not about the moth (discernibly), but more about the sixteen year old boy facing it, sliding down the walls of his room. This teenager also happened to be on the verge of a mental breakdown, and could not help but think what the bloody fucks is happening?
Remus John Lupin could have consecutively suffered all the nine circles of hell, for all he cared, as long as it was another hell than this one. Laying completely flat on the floor, the only source of coolness this time of the day, staring at the ceiling fan.
He wanted to be relieved about finally being away from the pitying looks, but very much surprisingly, loneliness took its toll. Why though? It was a sour vexation that was thought to be far gone after finding his Hogwarts family, or whatever sappy crap the Marauders were.
Yes, "were". Many things were over. (at least Remussy thought they were *wink wink* fret not, mortals.) And one thing that Remus hated was change.
Fucking ironic, innit? Change was a major course of his life, following the moon and going through its phases. Right, a big shout out to lycanthropy, whom contradicted all the morals and self-identity that he built up for himself. Now, the whole world was revolving around that god forsaken condition. He was half admitting the knowledge of what would happen all over again. Shame, anger, guilt, loneliness, thrown into a blender and force fed, only he was the one holding his mouth open.
Over, and over, and over…
And to top it all off, as his time alone in rumination gave into a thought spiral, the flashbacks decided to invite themselves to the cacophony his mind was getting into.
10th of March. The dim light of the bed lamp, deep in the night. Time was but a fleeting concept. Drowsy, content, adrenaline rushing from heavy dancing. Sirius with his flowing black hair, talking about nothing, anything, everything, staring at each other. Was that Golden Years playing in the distance? Wait…Black leaning in. A kiss. Waking up, Sirius was not there.
13th of May. The dark humid shack, dawn rising. Time was but a fleeting concept. Alone in the humidity, staring into the dark, thinking it was just another transformation. Remus confronting his scars, a deserting silence. Lupin, falling down as the world seemed to cave in. Was that a scream? Waking up, Sirius was not there.
Both were just a sick joke, and the hound he thought he new was a mere twisted grin.
Now his father wouldn't even look at him in the eye, and he got tired of Severus' scowl, James' hesitancy, and Peter's forced smile. The rest of the Marauders tried so hard to bodge it up, for it to be the same; but the more the attempts, the more it felt pointless, pathetic, even. Even more pointless when Remus may or may not have punched Sirius right in the mug when the pleas just was enough. Promising himself Sirius deserved it, even with that bloody (literally the hemoglobin) face and those watery eyes.
He then put himself in a comfortable state of isolation, which in turn gained the concerned looks from literally everyone. For the love of Merlin, why can't people just mind their own bloody business?
And what if he just said fuck it. May this year turn all to shits, may the people he knew for years turn their back away from him. He had Lily, the library…
Never mind, Remus was terrified, damnit.