Rage

He walked forwards, hesitantly. He grabbed the door handle, it smelt of pure gold. He took a breath in, and opened the door.

He gasped at the sight in front of him. The room was huge, and shaped like a pentagon. Against one wall was a row of cardboard targets, painted red and white, with a blue dot in the middle.

Remus looked around to why he would need a target, and his question was answered by the wall behind him.

There were gleaming, razor sharp throwing daggers, with ninja stars here and there. He walked up to one of the daggers. It was black, with four holes in the handle to put his fingers through. The sharp edge was a gleaming silver, though it did not burn him when he touched it, like all silver things did since he was bitten.

He looked at one of the stars next. It was in the same kind of fashion as the daggers, but had only a single finger-sized hole in the center of it. He felt the edge, barely touching it with his thumb, sliding his thumb over its edge. 

He put the star back on the rack. That was when he noticed the thin stream of blood running down his thumb. He stared, amazed. He looked around some more. 

There was a hammock attached to the ceiling in the corner farthest to his right. There were blankets underneath it folded neatly. He walked over to them, and ran his fingers over them.

Godric, these are the softest things I’ve ever felt, he thought to himself. Suddenly, it all became clear. This room, whatever it was and whatever was controlling it, had read him like a book. He had needed somewhere to sleep, and the room had provided.

He needed somewhere to rage his anger, somewhere to throw things, and destroy something without punishment, hence the targets and the weapons. He laughed aloud. How was this possible? 

He decided to go over to the daggers and stars, he noticed something he hadn’t noticed before. There were marks on the ground in front of the targets. He grabbed a dagger. 

He balanced it in his palm. It was as sharp as the star, and well weighted. He took a closer look at the beautiful craftsmanship of the small knife. 

He gripped the knife, turned towards the targets, and hurled it with all his strength. It stuck in the target from sheer force, sharp ends facing towards him, handle embedded in the cardboard. He smiled to himself. That was oddly satisfying. He walked over to the target. He put his finger in the last hole on the knife showing.

It came free easily. He walked back over to the line he was at. What time is it? He looked around for a clock. Luckily, there was one above the door. It read half past 2. Weird, he wasn’t tired at all. He turned back to the cardboard target.

He positioned himself once again, and threw the knife a second time, though not with all his force as he had before. The dagger flew through the air in slow motion, finally coming in contact with the target.

It was better. The sharp part had at least made it into the cardboard, but it was still out of the painted circle.

Remus spent the rest of the night throwing daggers and stars, each throw getting closer than the last. He learnt from trial and error, never letting himself make the same mistake twice.

_

Romulus sighed, pacing the common room. It was now 3:00am and his brother had not returned. Someone came down from the girls dormitory.

He looked up. It was one of the girls from the sorting ceremony. She was quite pretty, with a darker complexion, and warm dark brown eyes. She had extremely curly black hair, and a warm smile.

“Oh, I didn’t think anyone else would be down here,” she said. “It’s quite late, are you alright?”

She had a southern accent, middle class. She wore new robes, but not top-dollar like Sirius or James.

“Just waiting for my brawd,” he said, (brother).

“Oh, your brother? I think that's what that means. Proud? I don’t really know how to say that,” she laughed. It was a nice sound.

“Yeah, it means brother. It’s kind of like a P and a B at the beginning, with the P cut short, and the rest it ‘owd’,” he said, with a chuckle of his own.

“So like, brawd?” she asked.

“Yeah, like that. It’s kind of mesmerizing the way it sounds with your accent.”

She laughed again. Romulus realized it was a little weird to say that outloud, and he felt heat rising up to his cheeks. 

“My name’s Mary. Mary Mcdonald,” she spoke softly, a kind voice that Romulus had never before been addressed with.

“O-oh, um, Romulus Lupin,” he hated that he stuttered, embarrassing himself further. He felt his blush deepen. It was stupid, really, to be as pale as himself. It made things like this so much more embarrassing than they needed to be.

“Well then, Romulus, I think you should get some sleep. I saw the fight, it’s doubtful that your brawd is going to return at all. Don’t worry, you’ll see him tomorrow. And if not, he’ll have to get food eventually,” it was scary, how she could calm him so easily. He nodded.

He let out a low whistle, “You’re right.”