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Usually, Remus liked the winter. Winter was pom pom hats, big sweaters, and pink noses. It was reading by the fire, making Sydney hot chocolates, and the snow crunching under his feet. The cold air outside pricked his skin and sent electricity down his spine. It made his heart tight; it made it loosen indoors when he fell into a chair by the fire. They built Snow-Marauders. They had snowball fights. Sydney held his hand tighter and stood closer to him.
He liked this image of winter.
But tonight was different. Tonight, winter was sleet blue and howling. It was Jack Frost, shredding through his skin. It was a long trek across the grounds and clothes Remus could stand to lose. It was unforgivable wind, attacking the holes in his oldest t-shirt, tearing at the newly healed cuts on his abdomen. It was the whitest grin of the sharpest teeth, the threat of the night circling Remus in a whirl of sleet. Tonight, winter was not kisses of snow.
Tonight, winter was the full moon.
His jacket was too thin, but he'd been scared to bring his good coat. Though, his coat was the least of his problems.
The wood looked the same as when he'd been dragged away in January. Greyish, worn. In the corner, he could see her body again. Limp, blood-covered, lifeless. He snapped the hair tie on his wrist against his skin to keep himself moving. There was already a red mark, enflamed from the cold, but he snapped it again and again until he could look away. His breath lingered in the air like a ghost. He wanted to get out of here as quick as possible.
His mind typically began to scatter by now. Before he'd make it to the shack, Remus would lose moments, like he was teleporting along the timeline. The wolf typically took over quickly.
It seemed tonight would not be a typical moon.
Remus undressed without ruining any clothes. He folded them and placed them on the bed in the back of the room. And then he sat in the middle of the room, freezing. With so much exposed skin for the cold air to attack, his teeth chattered and his body shook in rhythmic convulsions. He folded in on himself, rubbing his hands over his arms – still bare, still cold.
What's taking so long? he wondered, pulling his knees to his chest. He always hated the transformation, dreaded it for the weeks between moons. But at least it was timely. He'd managed to work out his body's clock; make it to the shack just in time for the transformation to begin. Now, he was just waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
He couldn't look over there. Couldn't bring himself to look away.
In the corner, where he killed her.
No. He didn't kill her. It was just a boggart. He didn't kill her.
Still, the corner. Where he didn't kill her. He couldn't look over there. He couldn't look away.
Remus closed his eyes and for a moment there was peace in darkness. The next moment, there was Sydney. In the corner, where he didn't kill her, she was dead. Blood spilled from beneath her, caught in her hair, made Remus's Wales shirt stick to her skin. Long lines slashed her face, tearing her perfect skin to shreds and leaving more blood draining down her cheeks. She was pale, so pale. So dead.
