Like Nothing Matters
The horrors of a full moon are such of which I would not wish upon anyone, ever. A day before the moon I drive out into the woods, get settled into my iron-plated home away from home, and wait. The waiting is by far the worst – I cannot trust the sun to set at a decent time, and so I find myself waiting for hours before. And once the sun sets, the nightmare begins. A searing pain, taking over every sense and each sensibility, ripping through flesh and heart and mind, until there is nothing, nothing left, nothing human – only the monster. The monster claws and fights and howls, but it cannot, under any circumstances, be let loose – because I will be damned with all the devils of hell before I become the cause of such pain for anyone else.
But what is much, much worse than the full moon, is the first few days after it passes. A few years back, I decided to stop letting Peter know when the transformation subsides, for the simple reason that I couldn’t bear to let him know just how awful I am. When the moon passes, and the monster is gone, back to being a nagging presence in the back of my consciousness, all that is left behind is disgust, hatred, the pain, and loathing. So much loathing. Every little thing feels reason enough to put a gun to your own head, and you cannot for the life of you explain why. You just want it all to end – you want to be alone, rid of the voices in your head, rid of the wolf, and rid of the little child it bit, and rid of everything.
A good method I learned to deal with it is a knife and a disciplined cut. And from all I could’ve told, this moon was to be the same as any other – pain and penance. And yet, for some strange reason, my mind found much more to be pennant for this time around (most of all when it remembered the scent of Sirius’ perfume, or the feel of his skin on mine, or the way his obsidian eyes glistened when he looked into mine – it was all sickening, I was sickening, I deserved to bleed, I deserved it, I deserved it…). Regardless, soon the passover period was done, and it was time for me to leave the forest and return to London.
I saw Peter flinch when he saw me enter (the healing spells I had cast on myself had seemed insufficient, I suppose), and sympathy crossed through his eyes. I know he must’ve felt incredibly guilty, every moon we knew each other, for he could never come with me. He tried of course, studying valiantly and finishing the animagus transformation soon after we finished school – but what help was a rat to a wolf under the moon? Instead he had thrown himself into learning everything he could about lycanthropy, and I was grateful for it. If not for him, I wouldn’t have known any spells that could heal the magical wounds the wolf left behind.
James was deeply engrossed in a newspaper, as he tended to be, and I couldn’t see Sirius anywhere at first – that is until I noticed a dark mass curled up on the settee next to James. I furrowed my brow, looking closer and… yes, it was – a black dog. I cleared my throat and the animagus woke up, ears perked up and nose sniffing. He seemed to recognise me fairly quickly, bounding over to me and transforming back into the Sirius I knew moments before he got to me. He stopped a few feet away, scanning me up and down like a peculiar case to crack. Then, once he knew everything he could from his analysis, he conquered the feet between us, engulfing my aching and lonely bones in a crushing hug.
“I missed you,” he muttered, and my heart grew warmer just a tad. “Why did you have to go for so long?”
“That’s just life sometimes,” I shrugged. “Everyone comes and goes sometimes. It’s just life.”
~~~~~~
I opened the balcony door and sat on its ledge, taking a long draw from my cigarette, coffee in one hand and another steaming mug set beside me, steaming in anticipation of its consumer. Sirius sat opposite me, and we looked at the waning moon together, I with my cigarette and he with his coffee.
“It’s a lovely moon this month,” he said quietly.
“I wouldn’t know,” I responded bitterly. He furrowed his brow slightly, but let it go fairly quickly.
Sirius sighed. “I miss my brother.”
“What was he like?” I put out the stub of my cigarette and took a drink of coffee.
He smiled, and I felt the cold air of the night grow warmer. “Such an idiot,” he said, “the kind you’d enjoy, I think.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, I do seem to like idiots.” I took another drink. “Where is he now?”
“Who knows?” Sirius shrugged. “When I left home he was still there – but I can’t see him staying much longer after I left.”
“Why’s that?” I pushed further, but Sirius grew silent, and I knew in an instance that I went too close to what he kept in his heart. ‘Still,’ I noticed, ‘this was the truest conversation we’ve ever had I think’.
“Why are you afraid of me, Remus?” I looked back at Sirius’ eyes, and noticed for the first time just how close we were, just how close, how easy it would be to lean in and…
“Why would you think I’m afraid of you?” I swallowed, wielding my coffee mug like a shield, heart aching for Sirius and lungs aching for a cigarette. “I’m not afraid.”
“You’re afraid of everything.”
“Not you.” I shook my head. Sirius moved closer to me, so close I could feel his breath on mine, his skin tantalising like some forbidden apple in a garden somewhere.
“You have got no idea just how amazing you are, do you?” His voice grew low, almost a whisper. Almost like a promise.
“I’m a monster,” I whispered back, “not amazing.”
“Why do you keep saying that?” Sirius shook his head slightly, eyes continuing to be locked on mine, glittering and gorgeous.
“Because it’s true, Sirius.”
“I don’t believe you.” He shook his head again.
“But it’s true,” my breath hitched as his lips seemed to grow even closer, even more perfect, and my head became more and more light, and my mind muddled, and my judgement swayed, and… “I’m a werewolf, Sirius.”
He froze at that, eyes still locked on mine, and I awaited the inevitable withdrawal, the obvious betrayal and disgust that had to be filling his heart – but it did not arrive. To be completely true, I had no idea what was going through his head, no more when he looked at me like that, until he spoke, softly and lovingly.
“Oh Remus,” he said, placing a hand on my cheek, “how I wish you could see yourself the way I always have.” And with those words spoken like a heretic’s prayer, he conquered the last few centimeters between us and pressed his lips against mine, pulling me into a gentle embrace, and nothing had any meaning, neither how much I hated myself for it, nor how much I wondered if any man could ever love me the way I loved him, how on earth Sirius Black could feel the same way for me as I felt for him…
What did I do to deserve it? I don’t know. But for a moment, I felt infinity – and for a moment, I felt like maybe there were things worth living for.