Fic: As We Are Wont, 2
Severus,
In dreams, I am a wolf. In dreams, I live with a pack-- Siberia, Canada-- as you say, does it matter? Freedom is freedom to a wolf, the smell is distinctive. I run for miles and remember evergreens. There are days when I long for that life, there are mornings when I wake, drenched in sweat, terrified. Men have made a monster of me, Severus, and the only thing my wolf desires is freedom, as any animal does. That is what I think some days. What I fear most, what I desire most, is that one day I will wake and I will wonder why I have a human face, a human body, when I am a wolf. My nature is divorced against me. The tearing of a werewolf is not simply from violence, anger, bloodlust. If I do not turn feral before the war ends, I will count it a miracle.
Wolfsbane, Severus, does not allow me to stay sane. I do not keep a human mind-- that is what Damocles liked to say. How can he know. Wolfsbane does not give me humanity, it is not a gift. It is unnatural and I fight each time, every moon, because it goes against everything. Wolfsbane domesticates. It turns me into nothing better than a dog, whining and waiting for a human master. It is liquid Imperius. With Dark potions come Dark deeds, for Dark creatures are Dark remedies.
Yes, I dream of freedom. Each passing moon I long, my skin itches under the cloth. With this comes a carnal desire. You regret you have not touched and tasted me. I regret that you never claimed me as your own. I would have given everything to you. But not only for pleasure-- pleasure can be got anywhere. I want you for the experiences you so despise. I want you as only Darkness can want: devouring, all-consuming, addictive. If you had taken me I would not have denied you, though I would not have stopped dreaming. There is a part-- I suspect you have it too-- untouched and untouchable by any other. She holds it, as you say. And she does not. My moon induced madness has been with me so long, I do not think of it as an infection. It is nestled deep in my body and will kill me someday, like a worm gutting my insides.
They are few, but there dreams, rare and never lasting, of a life with you without our Darkness of markings and past between us. Would you and I be the same? Could we stand each other? What, as you say, defines a human?
I am not human, Severus. Do not stir dreams long dead, do not fight what is inevitable. It has been a very long time since the wolf dreamed of being human.
Yours,
RJ Lupin