#~i long for the raised voice the howl of rage or love~remus lupin

[poiverine]

petrichor

Whenever they didn't know how talk, they would scream.

It’s not like he wouldn’t know how to fight without him. Sometimes he just thought that if it wasn’t for him, he would never find the strength to fight at all. Even if usually it meant fighting him.

*

The first time the thought about Sirius’ betrayal struck him as something real, he couldn’t quite force himself to face his lover for the entire day. The morning was bright and hopeful but before the dawn there came the night, always long and lonely, with cold ghost of someone else’s presence as his only company. The war has been merciless for months and there were more and more days Sirius couldn’t be next to him. Lonely nights have been crushing his heart, making him believe in unthinkable when all they needed was reliance.

It was hard to trust the closest friends when all they did - what all of them have been doing for the past year - was hide their own faces from the world someone had built for them, hoping they would get to see the world they once knew. In moments like these it was easy for something that reminded him so much of burning hatred to sneak into his heart and break the brittle bonds he created.

At the same time, it was hard to remember why he hated Sirius Black so much when he finally stood right in front of him with everything he has ever loved about him.

It’s not like he didn’t want to let himself be happy just because Sirius was there. Back home he was safe and sound, and honestly, what was there more to wish for? He didn’t plan to start a fire he was unable to control. Even so, before he could even think about it, he was throwing all his doubts and suspicions at him with accusing tone and the fire was already there. He couldn’t tell when exactly they both started yelling at each other.

“What is it this time?” Sirius’s silent voice, so different from the raised cry still echoing in the small space between them, sounded almost as if it didn’t belong to him at all. It wandered around the narrow halls and corners, ringing in their ears, hissing like a snake hidden in their minds. “What do you need now, Remus? Is it time? Space? To be alone?”

Remus hated himself for how easily the words that the only thing he really needed right now was Sirius, even if he was the traitor, came to his mind.

“You know I could never say ‘no’ to you. You know perfectly I would give everything and do anything for you. Fuck, Moony…”

He looked away before Padfoot’s voice broke, as if his words couldn’t stand the weight of the feelings carried with them. Something in his sorrow has been giving him comfort and that was probably the same thing that made his vision turn red.

“If that’s what you want…” said Black finally, with the same voice he used earlier to make his heart bleed. His hand stopped before it pushed the door and Remus almost panicked, realizing Sirius is looking at him, straight into his soul, waiting for the answer, but he still couldn’t bring himself to say the right words.

“It must be pleasant, no? To find someone who lets you break their heart so many times” he said eventually, but the only reply he got was the slam of the door.

*

Life at the Grimmauld Place was never considered simple; it wasn’t easy to be the eldest child of Pollux Black and it wasn’t easy to be the only girl in the house full of spoiled boys, when she was expected to carry the good name of her family for all of them.

It wasn’t easy to forget that the man she’s supposed to marry is her cousin. It wasn’t easy to remember that the baby she’s holding so close to her heart is the heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and needs a firm hand, when this little boy smiled at her so lovely; when his eyes were so similar to the ones she saw every day in the mirror.

Bleak walls of Grimmauld Place and its heavy curtains had always been making it easier to forget about things like that; about her son’s doll-like eyes and his little fists trying to grab her long fingers.

Still, it wasn’t easy to be head of the family the night she burned out the name of her eldest from old tapestry, nor was it easy to be a mother when she got the message about her youngest son’s death.

Walburga Black had never considered her life simple but recently she found out that when you stay at Grimmauld Place, you shouldn’t even think of a peaceful death.

Her son’s pathetic howling was coming to her through the dark corridors, taking the same old way it took all the past evenings and nights. Staying firmly on her blemished canvas Walburga could almost imagine black haired man trying to hide face in his bony hands.

“How could you even think it was me?! How could you believe…”

“What was I supposed to believe then?” Remus couldn’t bring himself to scream. He burned with the weakening, irrational rage he couldn’t stop anymore. Sorrow and weariness that made him fight for the last months, now were only fueling the cruel, cold tone of his voice. “Everyone thought it was you.”

“I didn’t care about everyone, Moony,” there was something more hiding behind Sirius’ weepy voice besides surrender, yet Remus couldn’t care less - in that moment, it was too easy for him to assuage his own suffering with the other man’s pain. “I didn’t want everyone. I’ve always wanted you…”

Voices coming from the ground floor eventually started to fade and the only sound that could still be heard down the corridor was the clinking of glasses on the kitchen table.

Walburga Black still couldn’t remember how it felt to be sorry for somebody.

*

The bottle of whisky clinked one more time when he put it on the table. He frowned at the sound of it echoing around the empty corridors; it felt like that way every room in this damned house could hear his misery. He couldn’t help but think how many more glasses would it take to wake up every ghost from the cellar. Somewhere in the darkness, the portrait of twisted, old witch pretended to be asleep.

Just a week earlier there would be two glasses knocking on the table; sometimes they would sing with their ringing voices while greeting each other with gentle touches, sometimes they would scream, glasses shattering against the wall. Eventually they would go silent only for two other raised voices to rush to replace them.

Wizard glanced with utter distaste at the old furniture surrounding him. He felt almost jealous of calmness and stoicism which was their only reaction to the loss he’s been sharing with them. His eyes shifted from the faded tapestry full of burned holes to the scratched mirror.

He looked right into his own reflection’s mocking eyes almost hidden behind the empty chair on the other side of the table.

“Where did your will to fight go, Remus?” the reflection asked.

Lupin looked hard into the dark eyes in front of him, scanned its soulless smile. Words came to him before he could think about answer he gave but hearing his own voice, he was sure it didn’t belong to him anymore.

“Right where you buried Sirius Black.”

--------------

hi guys yeah this is my first translation sry for my terrible english. if you liked it leave some kudos on my ao3! 

(or polish ao3)

[hollowg1rl]

Bite that Binds 2

@nauticalparamour @dulce-de-leche-go @questwithambition @kreeblimsabs

Remus Lupin was uncertain about the three young men before him, sensing the monster lurking under their skin much like his own. However, he had been given the chance to make something of his life outside of a pack under the control of You-Know-Who, something they didn't. The two younger boys looked broken down and weak. The older boy, Dean he had said his name was, look hardened.

If their story was true, though, there was hundreds of children just like them being kept as pets and weapons.

"Please, the young ones just need a chance to get out of there. It's too late for some of us older ones, we haven't ever known any other life, but others like the Creeveys deserve a chance." Dean spoke seemingly from the heart, but the Order had been dealing with werewolf attacks for years now. They barely trusted Remus, less lone a bunch of kids who had only known the hand of the Voldemort.

"I'm not sure," Remus started, frowning as he crossed his arms. He had been on patrol when he located the three, the oldest patching up the younger two with poorly made potions and salves. From the scars covering their arms and chest, he would wager this was a common occurrence.

"Please, the youngest is only six years old, the one before died from the bite and was four." Dean was even pleading with the older werewolf, knowing that unless you grew up in a pack your sense of smelling subtle lies was weak.

The information about the youngest grabbed at Remus' heart, a pained grimace contorting his face. Dean was biting back a howl of triumph. There he was, hook, line and sinker.

.:':. ':.:' .:':.

Having tied the wizard to a rather nice chair inside of his cottage, Hermione placed both wands and the bobble holding her hair in a tangled bun on a side table before stalking towards him. She looked a wild thing, and the dagger in her hands added danger of the highest degree. Shaking her curls free of the knot, Hermione raised the dagger and cut away the open flannel shirt covering Fenrir's chest.

"Just say the word and I stop," Hermione breathed against his ear, her free hand tangling in his long hair and tugging his head back.

"I won't cower to a bitch like you!" He spat, trying to pull free but instead only yanking his hair loose in her fist.

Rather than being upset, Hermione just chuckled deep in her throat as she leaned forward again and sank her teeth into his shoulder through his flannel.

"I am a bitch, yes, but I'm top bitch and you're just a weak wizard. Come on, don't you want to be feared? To be truly powerful?" There was blood leaking from the wound even as she licked her lips, grinning at the ragged pants Fenrir was expelling through gritted teeth.

She could see the hunger in his eyes even as she tugged his hair back again just to see his throat strain. She was nearly getting off just from dominating who assumed he was an alpha male. It made her all tingly inside.

"I'd rather have respect than be feared!" Fenrir spat, actually spat at Hermione in his rage. A brighter flash of gold had Hermione snarling and leaning into his face. Her hot breath spanning his skin and making him shiver.

"Oh, you don't know true fear yet. But you want respect? Lead. You hide out here in this village, drinking and brawling in pubs, that's not respect, that is complacency." A growl accompanied the last word as she snapped at his face even as she released him.

Stepping back, she twirled her dagger before drawing a thin line down the center of Fenrir's chest. At his hiss, she smirked wickedly and then cut just above both of his nipples, watching the blood well up.

"Fucking bitch!" He screamed, yanking hard at his restraints and throwing his head back in pain.

"Mm, I love the smell of blood. But I love the taste even more," dipping her head down, Hermione lapped at the beads of blood, nipping at his skin even as her tongue soothed and healed the shallow cuts.

Panting now, Fenrir looked at the girl with a mixture of lust and loathing. Lust because it's been so long since he last shagged a decent bird, and loathing because she was a beast hiding in human skin.

"Taste the darkness, Fenrir Greyback, and see just what you are missing." Tipping his head back, Hermione forced a kiss and kept eye contact, sending her memories into his mind to show just what he could have if he joined them.

While a fully trained witch or wizard could have done it any other number of ways, Hermione only knew this way to share information without the other person entering her mind the traditional way. She needed a tether to them beyond simply touching them with her fingers, and she had discovered kisses to form a temporary bond, just enough to share what she wanted.

When she pulled back, Fenrir had blood on his teeth from her kiss and a gleam in his eyes.

"Alright girl, you and your Dark Lord, you have a deal. My wand for the war."

"What of your fangs?" Hermione gave a question even as she vanished his ties, settling onto his lap as he rubbed the soreness from his wrists. "Your claws?" She added, leaning forward and running her tongue along his throat. "Your viciousness?" Here a nip on his pulse.

"Those," he growled, though in poor mimicry of her own, "I'd rather use on you." Running his hands up her thighs, gripping his fingers into the loose material of her bloomers. While her outfit made little sense to him, he couldn't help but be great she was basically in undergarments.

A deep chuckle rumbled in her chest as she rocked against his growing bulge in his trousers, nipping at his skin even as her fingers dipped down to undo the fastenings and running her claws down his trail of hair teasingly.

"You are mine, Fenrir, welcome to the Pack," and with a flash of a dark gold light, they were no longer in his home,but instead sprawled on the floor of the throne room.

They were slightly surrounded, mostly older teenagers and a few young adults like Hermione. What stood out the most, was the old wolf seated on a wooden chair next to the throne.

Hermione stood seamlessly from where she was straddling Fenrir and moved toward the grizzled old wolf, nuzzling against the old man's throat before moving to join her fellow wolves below the dais.

The old wolf didn't acknowledge Hermione, instead standing and making his way to the floor to look over Fenrir where he was trying to stand and keep his eye on everyone present. Fenrir didn't do a good job, considering he was completely surrounded.

"So you are the one my pup was sent after." The wolf's voice was a pure growl, giving very little note of even being part human. "I guess you'll do. A bit old for my tastes, but what the Dark Lord wants the Dark Lord gets." While speaking he was looking Fenrir over before throwing a glance at Hermione, a cruel grin stretching his thin lips over jagged fangs.

"One of the younger pups are bringing our wands, I didn't want to risk him trying to get away before we're through here." Hermione spoke up, the first time since their arrival. She was leaning on one of the other girls, running her fingers through the long blonde hair.

"You tricked me!" Fenrir screamed, tugging his shirt closed and wincing at the tugging of his still weeping cuts. Not only was the pain distracting But it was no longer arousing and his cock was quickly deflating because of his current situation.

"Oh, I'll still shag you, Fenrir, but you have to pass a test first." Hermione tossed his way, nuzzling the girl she was against and giving that same little growling purr he involved in her not long ago.

"What kind of bloody test?" Fenrir was uneasy asking, and her answering look made it doubly so.

[mssr-moony-esq]

Remus’s Top Plays on Spotify: 

Up the Wolves ~ The Mountain Goats

Landslide ~ Fleetwood Mac

Hanging by a Thread ~ Billy Talent

A Case of You ~ Joni Mitchell

Gravity ~ The Dresden Dolls

Shatter Me ~ Lindsey Stirling

 Feeling Good ~ Nina Simone

Troubles ~ Alicia Keys

Foolin Myself ~ Billie Holiday

Song to Say Goodbye ~ Placebo

1. Up the Wolves ~ The Mountain Goats

There's bound to be a ghost at the back of your closet No matter where you live There'll all ways be a few things, maybe several things That you're gonna find really difficult to forgive

There's gonna come a day when you'll feel better You'll rise up free and easy on that day And float from branch to branch, lighter than the air Just when that day is coming, who can say? Who can say?

2. Landslide ~ Fleetwood Mac

Well, I've been afraid of changin' 'Cause I've built my life around you But time makes you bolder Even children get older And I'm getting older too

3. Hanging by a Thread ~ Billy Talent

Hello, hello, hello my darling, have we reached the end? 'Cause when the stitches fall apart we're hanging by a thread

Hello, hello, hello my darling, some things never change When our words are dipped in gasoline, our love goes up in flames I tried so hard to get behind your mental barricade But every time it leaves me feeling damaged, torn, and frayed

4. A Case of You ~ Joni Mitchell

Oh, but you are in my blood You're my holy wine You're so bitter Bitter and so sweet. Oh, I could drink a case of you darling

5. Gravity ~ The Dresden Dolls

Now Necks are cracking sideways Hit me from the back side I am on the thin side You are on the fat side Cut a piece that's bite-size Shoot me from my bad side If you want a straight line This would be a good time

The sky is always falling down on me The sky is always falling, falling The sky is always falling down on me So officer, forgive me, please!

6. Shatter Me ~ Lindsey Stirling

If I break the glass, then I'll have to fly There's no one to catch me if I take a dive I'm scared of changing, the days stay the same The world is spinning but only in gray

Somebody shine a light I'm frozen by the fear in me Somebody make me feel alive And shatter me

7. Feeling Good ~ Nina Simone

Dragonfly out in the sun you know what I mean, don't you know? Butterflies all havin' fun, you know what I mean Sleep in peace when day is done, that's what I mean And this old world, is a new world And a bold world for me, yeah-yeah

8. Troubles ~ Alicia Keys

Why does it feel that my mind is constantly trying to pull me down? I can't seem to get a way Continuous mistakes I know I've made before How long will I feel so out of place?

9. Foolin Myself ~ Billie Holiday

And every time I pass And see my face in a looking glass I tip my hat and say "How do you do, you fool You're throwing your life away"

10. Song to Say Goodbye ~ Placebo

You are one of God's mistakes, You crying, tragic waste of skin, I'm well aware of how it aches, And you still won't let me in. Now I'm breaking down your door, To try and save your swollen face, Though I don't like you anymore, You lying, trying waste of space.

[mssr-moony-esq]

Remus J. Lupin ~  A Christmas Story in Three Acts

Act I

Christmas Eve - 2001

He is six years old and everything hurts.  It's the day after the first full moon after his father left, and it's been the worst one yet.  The scar across his nose that becomes the most recognizable aspect of his body is fresh and new, loaded up with a ton of muggle antiseptic and the smell is stinging his nose.  Mum is in the kitchen and she keeps crying.  Remus does not.  He's a big boy and daddy is gone so he can't cry.  He has to be strong.  Mum wants that from him.  

Remus sits by the Christmas tree and fiddles with the lights strung across it and looks down.  He sees the meager collection of presents under the tree and scowls when he see the one marked "Daddy" in his uneven letters.  It's a book and he picked it out himself, with Mum at the bookshop.  It's Call of the Wild and Remus had liked the dogs on the front cover.  He liked the idea of a story about sled dogs, he likes them being free in the wild.  It calls to something new inside of him.  He doesn't know enough to feel bad about being a werewolf, and maybe if his dad can read a nice book about sort of wolves he'll stop being sad all the time.

But it's pointless now, his father is gone and mum won't stop crying and every part of his body hurts and hurts and hurts.  Remus picks up the package and  and tosses it into the fireplace with a kind of recklessness that he would only very rarely display.  It's still burning when his mum comes back into the room with a fakely cheery "Happy Christmas" and holding a plate of cookies and hot chocolate.  Remus is six but he knows how to lie already and he smiles at her and listens to the crackle of burning paper behind him.

Act II

Christmas Day- 2008

He is thirteen years old and he's at Hogwarts for Christmas.  The moon had fallen on Christmas Eve exactly this year, and there was no way he could have gone home, even if his mum was desperate to have him.  It was two year away from knowing exactly why, his mum didn't want him to grow up quite that fast, regardless of the fact that he already was quite grown up.  He might be more or less alone on Christmas, but he doesn't mind, so much.  Hogwarts feels more like home than any other home ever has.  He has friends here, people that make an effort to understand him, that care about him.  They may be home with thier families, but they love him anyway, he knows because they send him letters and gifts.  It's new.  Remus feels like it will never stop being new.

Like always, Madam Pomfrey is there when he wakes up, standing at the door of the shack with her medical bag and a robe.  Today she's wearing a little Santa hat and smiles brightly at him, like he's not a naked, gangly teenager with blood dripping down into his eyes and a gash torn deep into the flesh of his right thigh.  "Happy Christmas, darling," she says brightly and wraps him up.  She chatters on while she tends to the worst of his wounds talking about how cheery the castle looks this morning and the fine feast waiting.  When Remus doesn't respond, she falls silent and and just hums under her breath, some half remembered Christmas carol from before life went upside down.  

He doesn't know he's crying until Madam Pomfrey wraps him up into a tight hug and runs her fingers gently over her hair.  "No, no I'm fine," he says a few moments later, and it's true.  He's just realized that he'd never felt more accepted, more himself in his entire life.  There is no judgement, there is no hiding, not in this moment, not with his friends and when he goes back into the castle there will be medicine for the pain and there will be meals and there will be owls from his friends and it will be the best Christmas yet.

{ Madam Pomfrey stays the whole day with him.  First it's just medicine and breakfast, and then it's her singing softly while he plays Christmas tunes on the violin.  She watches him open his Christmas letters and presents, fondly and easily, with none of the caged anxiety his mother always watched him with.  Later, they have spiced hot cider and and Remus tells her secrets that he always wanted to but never felt like he could tell her mother, fragile as she was.  He cries again, several times, but when he's tucked in at the end of the day, he has a smile on his face.  It was a good day. }

Act III

Christmas Night - 2015

He is twenty years old.  Mum had a bad reaction to the current course of chemo overnight and she had to be admitted.  The hospital is all fake cheer and brightly painted horror.  The nurse gives his mother another dose of the Zofran, and she stops vomiting a few minutes later.  She looks pale and wan though, and the nurse says its because she's dehydrated and that's what the fluids are for.  Remus knows.  It's not magical medicine, but he still knows. He did the research, he knows how it works.  He used magic to look into his mother's chart earlier, the things he wasn't supposed to see.  He knows her white blood cell count is low, too low.  They will give her CSFs for that.  Her red blood cell count is low too, and soon they will be hanging bags of blood and plasma and platelets so she doesn't bleed out the new blood they'll be pumping into her.  He knows that every progress note the doctor writes ends with PROGNOSIS POOR.  Remus has met with a Dr. Golden who works for the palliative care department and he talks about quality of life and pain control and time frames with and without treatment.  He is twenty years old and he is an adult, but this feels too much for him, to be asked to make decisions for his mother who can't do it herself because the metastasis and the drugs make her hazy and forgetful and not herself.  

She goes to sleep around ten pm and Remus knows he should stay with her, but he also can't.  He feels like his skin is too tight and it'll start spilling out his insides on to the cold white tile.  

So he leaves.  He goes to James and Lily's first.  He talks to Lily in halted tones about what he knows, what he fears, how impossible it is for him to know what to do.  He doesn't cry then, but his fingers tremble and his voice feels like cut glass crawling out of his throat.  Lily wants him to stay and he almost does, but their house is almost too bright and too happy and he loves them so, but he can't take it anymore, he can't be a burden on a happy day for them.

He goes to Sirius then, wanders outside his window and refuses to say anything until he's spotted because of course he is, who paces back and forth in front of someone's window like that in the middle of the night?  Remus doesn't tell Sirius anything at all.  He sits down on the curb out front and Sirius sits next to him.  Eventually Remus pulls out a cigarette and hardly smokes it, watching the ash burn down to his fingers.  At some point he leans his head on Sirius's shoulder.  It's everything and not enough all at once.  

He leaves when dawn starts to light the sky, and everything cuts at him like knives, the cold that's seeped down into his bones, the ache of his heart that feel fractured.  He goes back to the rundown cottage he and his mother share, and knows then on some level that it will be his alone soon.  Five years they say, five years at the most and they will be painful they will be hard.  One year without treatment, but kinder and maybe Remus is a monster, but he want's everything done, he can't lose her too not now.  Not ever, but especially not now.  But nothing will change the fact that she's going to die. And soon, sooner or later.  

He thinks about screaming, watching the snow melt off the windows from the kitchen sink.  But then he remembers Lily and the soft way her hand clutched his, and James with his awkward but endearing concern watching from the doorway, knowing well enough not to intrude on the world that Remus and Lily could so often create around themselves.  He remembers Sirius who just lets him exist in the quiet fucked up way that he is, even though it probably killed him not to try and fix it.  

It occurs to him that if (when) his mother dies he won't actually be alone. It's a strange thing, a strange gift as Christmas Day faded into the odd time after Christmas and before the beginning of the New Year.  He has people.  He has family.  It's something he probably ought to have known already, but this is honestly the first time it's occurred to him.  

He's twenty years old, and he is old and young and alone and more connected than he has ever been in his life.  It's everything and he looks out at the snow falling around him and smiles through tears.

[mssr-moony-esq]

Austen and Bow Strings- Headcanon 001

Remus Lupin would not be exaggerating things if he said he didn't have a single friend until he turned 11 and he went to Hogwarts.  The nature of his childhood, characterized by his father's fear, his mother's lack of magical education and the fact that his young body was doing everything it could to reject his own lycanthropy made him a very sickly and isolated child.  He became very intimately aware of every nook and cranny of their ramshackle cottage, and was finding it just as much of a prison as the cell they'd lock him in on the full moons.

Hope Lupin was ill equipped to help her young son, and did the only thing she could think of.  She supplied him with books, every book she could get her hands on.  She filled him up with Shakespeare and Austen, Yeats and Wilde, Freud and Jung, King and Koontz.  Everything she could grab, he devoured, living a million lives outside of the one in his very small, dim corner of the world.   (She always loved Jane Austen, more than any of the rest of them, and Remus couldn't help but feel the same, wanting that kind of romance in his life, just like his poor mother, waiting for some handsome, dashing man to come sweep them both off their feet and take them away)

The violin was almost an afterthought, something Hope had seen in a corner of the book shop, gathering dust.  She'd given it to him for his ninth birthday, and wasn't surprised when he set about teaching himself how to play it- achingly slowly, especially with the way his hands would tremble in the days just before and after the moon.  Hope had always wanted him to try and write, to keep a journal of sorts, something to have a release of all of the things he was forced to keep inside.  But Remus seemed to be frustrated with writing, the way his hands would grip the pen too tightly when the moon was filling, cracked plastic and spilled ink.

The violin was different somehow.  Maybe everything Remus felt was too big for words.  Hope didn't think of herself as a bright woman, she didn't understand things like her son did, so she couldn't have picked apart why or how.  But she did know that something in Remus eased the second he gained some kind of mastery of the instrument and the mournful, melancholy strains of music would fill the house.  Hope never knew if they were actual classical pieces or things that he would write himself, plucked out of that strange, private head of his, but she never asked.  She never really thought it was her place.

The cancer took her left breast and then it took her mind and even though she's still breathing, she doesn't remember enough to think to ask now.  If any of it helped, if any of all of the little things she did made any sort of a difference. But there is a boy with scars on his face and sweet sorrow in his eyes that comes every week without fail and he reads her Pride and Prejudice and then he plays her beautiful music.  She knows that his hands tremble when she hold them, but his voice and the music are always so sure and strong.  She's proud and she doesn't know why, but it's good.