Carvings and Countdowns

3 RL

No matter how good the day before was, no matter how level-headed he had seemed, Remus couldn't shake the symptoms of the day before the full moon. He always woke up in a sweat, clawing at his neck for air, and wanting to scream out but being unable to.  It was always the same nightmare for him, recurring every time on the dot.

His parents. Running. As fast as they could. Something chasing them, growling. Hungry for bloodshed.

He always wondered why he had seen them run from the vision of the chaser, and each time he was just as shocked as before to learn that it was him doing the chasing. Moments before he'd awake, the realization would seep in. It was him. Turned. Mouth open wide and eyes gleaming yellow. His parents being his first and only victims.

He knew that's not how they left him. Frankly, it wasn't talked about much. Mum got sick, Dad went to take care of her. They'd pop in here and there, but rarely stayed for long. Remus had a feeling it had to do with his condition. He knew of the story, as he overheard them chatting about it in conspiracy from time to time growing up.

Greyback. The man that did this to him out of vengeful spite. His father had insulted him during an interrogation, said he was soulless and deserved to die because he was a werewolf, and Greyback struck Remus as a result. Remus's father always talked in fear of him since.

"What if he comes back?"

"What if he bites you, Hope, I wouldn't be able to live with the guilt. I already bear too much of it."

"Our son! Our son! Our poor son!"

Remus moved around a lot because of this. The fear, the constant worry, and the fact that most wizarding families caught onto the fact that he always disappeared once a month, on top of his already weird and skittish behavior. Maybe, that's why he was so introverted. He had always seemed like an outcast. His father made sure he never got too close to the other children, out of dread that a naive child would spread the secret. By the time Remus was seven, two years after the bite, his Mum got sick. Remus questioned whether they went away to help her, or to rid themselves of the constant panic he always seemed to ignite in them. The timing seemed too perfect.

Sometimes he felt that the nightmare meant he wished they were dead, because that would mean they didn't see him not because they didn't want to, but because they couldn't.

Whether he tried to push those intrusive thoughts out of his head or not however, each time he dreamt that nightmare, it all seemed to rush back in.

Either way, holidays and random pop-up visits were appreciated. He supposed living with Uncle Simon was the best coverup they could've managed. A muggle man who could swing an ax as easy as lifting up a fork; he sure felt protected.

He sat up and wiped his damp hair from his face and let out a sigh. One day. Hours now. This was the counting he least liked to do.

•••••

His Uncle always treated him a little different on these days. He'd walk on eggshells, never assign any chores, and make sure that he was well fed and hydrated. He even took the day off each time, which didn't go unnoticed as they needed every bit of money they could scramble up.

"Same nightmare again?", Uncle spoke soft and slowly.

"Mhm", Remus answered in a low tone. His head was already pounding and the sensitivity to the sun was making his eyes squeeze shut.

He reached for the refrigerator door and grabbed the orange juice. He popped the lid off and drank it straight from the container.

"I told you not to-", his Uncle stopped as he witnessed him chug the entirety of the bottle with one breath, "Nevermind. Cheers", he laughed.