'where we are now' remus lupin & regulus black

The Cut That Always Bleeds

" 'Cause you know what you're doing when you're coming back and I don't want to have another heart attack. Oh, I can't be the kiss that you don't need, the lie between your teeth, the cut that always bleeds."
____________________________

REMUS LUPIN

February, 7th 1979

Remus,

What does that matter now, honestly?

—C.R.E

I run my fingers across the page, feeling the dents where she had pressed the quill to the paper. I can almost picture her writing this—scribbling the messy letters in her unique handwriting. I can imagine the fury pulling her thick eyebrows together and crumpling her forehead.

If i'd been there, I might have laughed. Don't give yourself a brain hemorrhage, Delia. I would have told her. Just spit it out.

Laughing is the last thing I feel like doing now as I reread the words i'd already memorized. Her answer to my pleading note—passed from Lily to Pomfrey to her, just like in second year, as she pointed out—was no surprise.

I'd known the essence of what it would say before I opened it.

What was surprising, though, was how much each one of her meticulously written words had hurt me.

Cordelias pain cuts me deeper than my own.

Still, I created this storm, so it's only fair that I must sit in it's rain.

The dormitory door opens and I quickly tuck the letter into my blazer pocket.

"Hello," He says as he walks over, a soft and serene smile on his lips. He places his palm on my cheek, thumb gently stoking the curve of a scar.

Smiling back, "Hi." I breathe out.

☽☽☽

January 2nd, 1979

"It was Remus."

Cordelia drops my hand from under the desk.

I swallow, trying to dislodge the sudden lump in my throat. The guilt makes my head bow and my shoulders slump. I ruined her chances at a normal life, like Fenrir did to me. I am a plague.

There are moments when the lycanthropy is heightened. Times of stress, fear, threat. The adrenaline courses through your blood like heroine. Giving you everything you need in a single moment.

I glance at Delia from the corner of my eye. Her face is smooth, unreadable, but there's something wrong with her eyes—something she's trying very hard to hide. I feel a spasm of unease in my stomach.

I need to leave. I need to leave. I need to leave.

My legs pick me up suddenly. Carrying me with a light, unnatural speed. I'm able to leave the room in a breeze.

I'm able to walk the corridors before the panic really starts to hit, but I'm hyperventilating by the time I get to the portrait hole.