I Am, HP Fic, Remus, R
Title: I Am
Author: Regala Electra
E-mail: regala_electra@yahoo.com
Rating: R
Warning: Violence
Timeline: Set before PoA
Summary: Were it not I am. An experiment during moonlight.
Author’s Notes: I don’t know why I wrote this in first person. I’m weird. The fic is weird. It's all weird.
*
So this is how it happens. A night like any other, another day in the cycle, forever changing, and never ending.
My tongue is parched and dry, but I thirst for nothing. Not yet. All there is to taste is foul remnants, bitter and acidic, over-boiled and undercooked. It is something raw and burnt sticking to back of my throat. Foul, the very essence of it.
I shed each piece of clothing, waiting. Fold carefully each piece and neatly line shoes, for no one's amusement. There's no one left to see.
I am Remus J. Lupin. I have become Mr. Lupin. My father was Mr. Lupin and now, I am growing into his place, day by day. I am growing too old for my years. I'm growing as grey as - it.
I am Moony. I am Remus John Lupin. I am an effect of irony. I am Remus. I am Lupin. I'm Moony.
It is felt first. That is the greatest horror.
It is the moon.
It is a werewolf.
But no.
For it is here.
Here. Here?
Yes, here.
It must be-
Not True.
Lies.
The moon rises and if only it merely slipped away, but it is bright, as violently beautiful as ever.
Trails of flesh scrape away in celebration, blood streaming in victory.
Ripping and screaming the way out, body twists, breaks, snaps, and it is not what it was and will be.
Skin pulls apart and re-knits, hurriedly, the scent of blood - *real* blood - red, raw destroy and clamp down jaws (cracking apart, teeth splayed, sharpened) and there is violence singing in the air. Yes.
Destruction. Freedom. I.
Moon and smells and blood. Blood of self. To rip apart the beast and find IT there - what lurks inside. The blood, the blood that is tainted that is I AM.
I AM the monster I AM. And-
S
C
R
E
A
M
Howling into the round, ringing silence, dead and far away.
Crave. To rend and tear, cut and destroy.
An emptiness inside, IT, and now the punishment: to maul and rip apart, burning, red streams pouring down, so hungry -
Lingering, leg aching (will mend, always does), IT is killing US I AM.
No - this is something IT wants.
It is a two-legged word: prahhhhh-nnnnnnkkkkkkkk
IT swallowed and it is killing I AM the hunter I AM the night I AM the moon's secret horror I AM the moon's son I AM I AM WHO IS CALLED
I AM
Re-
not IT
OOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWLOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWLLLLL
Muscles explode so red and snap and strings pull apart through flesh and fur, vile hunger and lurking deeper-
kill rip it pull apart destroy forever kill kill destroy rend tear pieces of flesh (all just pieces of flesh) and
I AM WHO IS CALLED I AM the
were
Rem-
Were I not I AM
I am
Remus
Remus John Lupin that which is IT I AM NOT
bit tear it own drown it in MY skin my blood my fur my teeth my mind my mind my body my self my my my my my
I AM
not
MY MIND
I am Remus John Lupin I am Moony I am
I am still a wolf.
I curl up, bleeding on the ground, and for one night, I do nothing but sleep. There is flat silence all around me and all is quiet.
In the morning, I am fully Remus and struggle in the early dawn to rise, the wolf had tried to tear me out from the inside and my body will need a long time to recover.
The village remains as empty as ever, a few scattered homes, some say werewolves once roamed freely and there is nothing here save death.
Walking carefully down the beaten paths, leaning heavily against a self-fashioned cane, and rather wishing for a healer's assistance as my shoulder still stings with it's - my - violent bites.
The smallest shack of a house (and this was part of the allure, this shack as torn and ruined as a former one I so well remembered) waits at the end of the path.
A gnarled, ancient wizard occupies the squalor, his hands as knotted and browned as old bark. His ruined hands pull apart black leaves and drop them in the smoking potion.
He turns near-blind eyes to me, and grins his blackened smile (he had no other save himself for the experiments before me). The potion hisses vaguely and a cloud of black exhales sharply. I carefully breathe through my mouth, but it has already trailed inside of me, marking what I am.
I nod at him, and say, as politely as my many wounds will allow, "Yes, the Wolfsbane Potion worked exactly as you said."
He says in his broken language that he can double its power. It is a hideous promise and then he says, There will be no pain. The corner of his mouth twitches. A permanent side effect.
I try to thank him, but he shakes it off.
He looks directly into my eyes, seeing nothing. Did it scream?
"No."
I did.
The End.
Author: Regala Electra
E-mail: regala_electra@yahoo.com
Rating: R
Warning: Violence
Timeline: Set before PoA
Summary: Were it not I am. An experiment during moonlight.
Author’s Notes: I don’t know why I wrote this in first person. I’m weird. The fic is weird. It's all weird.
*
So this is how it happens. A night like any other, another day in the cycle, forever changing, and never ending.
My tongue is parched and dry, but I thirst for nothing. Not yet. All there is to taste is foul remnants, bitter and acidic, over-boiled and undercooked. It is something raw and burnt sticking to back of my throat. Foul, the very essence of it.
I shed each piece of clothing, waiting. Fold carefully each piece and neatly line shoes, for no one's amusement. There's no one left to see.
I am Remus J. Lupin. I have become Mr. Lupin. My father was Mr. Lupin and now, I am growing into his place, day by day. I am growing too old for my years. I'm growing as grey as - it.
I am Moony. I am Remus John Lupin. I am an effect of irony. I am Remus. I am Lupin. I'm Moony.
It is felt first. That is the greatest horror.
It is the moon.
It is a werewolf.
But no.
For it is here.
Here. Here?
Yes, here.
It must be-
Not True.
Lies.
The moon rises and if only it merely slipped away, but it is bright, as violently beautiful as ever.
Trails of flesh scrape away in celebration, blood streaming in victory.
Ripping and screaming the way out, body twists, breaks, snaps, and it is not what it was and will be.
Skin pulls apart and re-knits, hurriedly, the scent of blood - *real* blood - red, raw destroy and clamp down jaws (cracking apart, teeth splayed, sharpened) and there is violence singing in the air. Yes.
Destruction. Freedom. I.
Moon and smells and blood. Blood of self. To rip apart the beast and find IT there - what lurks inside. The blood, the blood that is tainted that is I AM.
I AM the monster I AM. And-
S
C
R
E
A
M
Howling into the round, ringing silence, dead and far away.
Crave. To rend and tear, cut and destroy.
An emptiness inside, IT, and now the punishment: to maul and rip apart, burning, red streams pouring down, so hungry -
Lingering, leg aching (will mend, always does), IT is killing US I AM.
No - this is something IT wants.
It is a two-legged word: prahhhhh-nnnnnnkkkkkkkk
IT swallowed and it is killing I AM the hunter I AM the night I AM the moon's secret horror I AM the moon's son I AM I AM WHO IS CALLED
I AM
Re-
not IT
OOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWLOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWLLLLL
Muscles explode so red and snap and strings pull apart through flesh and fur, vile hunger and lurking deeper-
kill rip it pull apart destroy forever kill kill destroy rend tear pieces of flesh (all just pieces of flesh) and
I AM WHO IS CALLED I AM the
were
Rem-
Were I not I AM
I am
Remus
Remus John Lupin that which is IT I AM NOT
bit tear it own drown it in MY skin my blood my fur my teeth my mind my mind my body my self my my my my my
I AM
not
MY MIND
I am Remus John Lupin I am Moony I am
I am still a wolf.
I curl up, bleeding on the ground, and for one night, I do nothing but sleep. There is flat silence all around me and all is quiet.
In the morning, I am fully Remus and struggle in the early dawn to rise, the wolf had tried to tear me out from the inside and my body will need a long time to recover.
The village remains as empty as ever, a few scattered homes, some say werewolves once roamed freely and there is nothing here save death.
Walking carefully down the beaten paths, leaning heavily against a self-fashioned cane, and rather wishing for a healer's assistance as my shoulder still stings with it's - my - violent bites.
The smallest shack of a house (and this was part of the allure, this shack as torn and ruined as a former one I so well remembered) waits at the end of the path.
A gnarled, ancient wizard occupies the squalor, his hands as knotted and browned as old bark. His ruined hands pull apart black leaves and drop them in the smoking potion.
He turns near-blind eyes to me, and grins his blackened smile (he had no other save himself for the experiments before me). The potion hisses vaguely and a cloud of black exhales sharply. I carefully breathe through my mouth, but it has already trailed inside of me, marking what I am.
I nod at him, and say, as politely as my many wounds will allow, "Yes, the Wolfsbane Potion worked exactly as you said."
He says in his broken language that he can double its power. It is a hideous promise and then he says, There will be no pain. The corner of his mouth twitches. A permanent side effect.
I try to thank him, but he shakes it off.
He looks directly into my eyes, seeing nothing. Did it scream?
"No."
I did.
The End.