!TW! : Involves themes of physical and emotional abuse as well as PTSD
"We're all monsters, you know."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, when you look out at that setting sun, what do you see?"
"The sky turns from blue to yellow, just as it does every n...
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~*~
A constant cough is one of the only things heard through the room, other than my sobs that shake my shoulders. I kneel next to my mother's bed, holding a hand that is carefully draped off the edge. She's considerate enough to know that I could hardly stand, I was crying too hard. Her grip is weak and fleeting. Everyone in the room knows that she will not last very much longer. No matter how much my father tries to order the house elves around, that isn't going to stop her passing.
"Everleigh." The call of my name is almost inaudible, but it's enough to bring me off of my knees and to my feet, looking at the sick woman in bed. She's a horrible sight, her skin a sickly gray, sweat covering her face and arms. "Everleigh," she repeats.
"I'm here, Mama," I say, grabbing her wet cloth from the bedside and pressing it to her forehead.
"Everleigh, don't be afraid," she says, squeezing my hand slightly. "Never be afraid of doing what you think is right. It may not always be the right thing to some, but if you feel that, in your heart, it is good, then never be afraid to go through with it."
"Okay, Mama," I say. At this moment, I don't entirely know why she's telling me this, but I know that these are words that I must remember. Only a couple minutes later, the house elves drape a large white blanket over her body and take her from the room. My father leaves with the body, completely forgetting I'm there. I collapse on the floor again, sobs ringing out through the now empty room. I know my father doesn't care. He will never comfort me, he'll never tell me it's okay. He'll never say that it isn't my fault, because as far as he's concerned, it is my fault. That is something I'll never understand.
~*~
The sunlight is the first thing that awakes me. The second is the pain that I feel in my arm. It isn't as though it's as painful as before, but my forearm aches as if I overworked the muscles. I let my eyes flutter open and I sit up in the bed slightly, trying to gather my surroundings. I made it to the hospital wing. My arm is wrapped in a sling, keeping it pressed to my chest. Madam Pomphrey is nowhere to be found and the rest of the wing is empty except for a figure that is laying next to me, sitting up in bed as well, leaning over a basket that looks to be filled with chocolate.
"Oh good, you're awake," Lupin says. He holds out an unwrapped bar of chocolate. "You want some? I've found chocolate always seems to turn any frown upside down."
I don't take it. Instead I stare at the boy as if he's crazy. He's a werewolf? That's why he gets sick every month and is gone for a week? And now here he is, trying to offer me a bar of chocolate as if he didn't just kill me last night.
Lupin's smile drops and so does his hand holding the chocolate. He swallows hard. "Look, I know what happened. I don't remember, but I heard from the others. I'm sorry I put you in that situation. You almost died because of me. And that- ... well, I- ... I genuinely don't know what to say now."
