Wolves Without Teeth ── theodore nott ¹ ( UNDER EDITING )

chapter thirty eight

      

       Sleeping becomes both a blessing and a curse for the young werewolf.

Some days, she lays in her bed, covered in blankets upon blankets and sleeps until someone awakes her. Usually concerned for her, considering she had managed to sleep all through meal times without even waking to use the loo.

Other times, she'll lay awake staring at the ceiling, eyes clinging to the air with dryness as she yearns for the kiss of rest that never greets her.

So she lays, waiting, lost in her world or allowing herself to devour another book that rested upon the dusty shelves of the room she had grown to call her own.

Winnie finds herself doing that now, as the new moon looms over her, she spends the day with aching bones and fingers brushing yellowed pages of books and she reads. Remus had gifted her books a month earlier, when he had taken them from the Lupin Cottage. ( a place she has never seen for her own two eyes ) She had been mumbling about how there were only nonfiction books in the walls of Grimmauld; he had appeared with boxes of fictional novels the very next day.

The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe lays in her hands now, hair running out like a halo against the deep violet of her pillow case, arms looped together on her blankets with a sweater pulled over her arms to hide the translucent blemish to her skin. The closer she got to the moon, the paler she grew, until her skin appeared almost grey and white, as if she was on her deathbed.

A knock goes through the air in her room, hazel eyes glancing up from the pages in her book and towards the sound. Where a thick head of ebony locks sneaks through, the taller, lanky male holding a small silver tray. Two mugs of something she assumed was hot, due to the steam curling up in the air and creating a window of fog against his round glasses.

"Hot Chocolate, I've heard it helps," Harry explained smiling, walking over closer to the bed and she shifted upwards. Ignoring the slight weariness of her bones, the twitch of pain that filtered through her spine as she sat up against her pillows. The book fell shut softly as she laid it down against her lap.

"Thanks," Winnie replied softly, winching slightly at the noise of a spoon clattering against the silver tray. Harry must have noticed, for he apologized sheepishly as he laid the tray on her bedside table. She reached forward, taking the small yellow mug that was decorated with flowers around the handle, her nimble fingers wrapping around the warm glass, lifting it up to her nose as she let the steam warm her face. "Made with milk?" She hummed, questioning the boy with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, I'm not an idiot," Harry rolled his eyes, shifting so one of his legs folded in under him slightly while the other let his foot hang off the bed. She manages to nudge him with her knee from underneath the blankets, before taking a sip of the liquid. Tilting her head back and closing her eyes, letting the warmth move down her throat and pooling in her belly. She pressed the pads of her fingers further into her mug, turning the tips around her chipped black nails white.

"Do you think they're ... erm together?" Harry questioned quietly, his voice a whisper above the flicking of the orange flame emitting from the small vanilla candle Winnie has lit on the nightstand. Her eyes snap open, tracing over to where Harry sat, jaw locked and staring down at the mug.

She didn't need to ask to know what he was thinking, it had been nearly two weeks since their trip to Diagon Alley. Two weeks since they followed Cordelia and Draco into Knockturn Alley. Though time faded and moved past them faster than she could blink, the memory of that entire day stayed glued in her mind.

In a particularly selfish situation, her mind didn't stay glued onto what Harry worried for. Instead, she pictured that scene in the twins shop, Theo smiling at little kids, Millie rolling her eyes, Theo smoothing hair out of her sister's face, her sister kissing his cheek. Everytime she pictured it, she felt her blood run bitter, frozen in her veins and her heart stammer painfully against her rib cage.