Carve Me Open / r.l. + s.b. /

Setting the Record

Start writing your story

"and I miss you so very much in this life that I know I'll see you again in the next one."

-via Ben Maxfield

Author's Note:

I want to preface ACT II with this: it will be as long as part one. So, buckle in for the next sequence of shitty events. If you are a #RR, I suggest you go back and brush up if you have not read the updated version of Carve Me Open. A lot of changes have been made.

A few more things:
-If you think I've forgotten, no I haven't >:)
-A lot of the loose ends left in ACT I will be covered/wrapped up in ACT II (including but not limited to that really weird Jegulus moment in the bathroom with a drunk Remus)
-We are no longer following canon
-Everything will be explained soon

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Location: Undisclosed, April 1980

Heat bore down on Remus's skin from the bulbs above, beads of sweat slipping down the creases of his back. Although cut short for the summer, stray tresses of tawny locks stuck to his forehead in a matted, damp swoop—a mixture of blood, perspiration, and tears hardening on the deep lines etched across his face. It wasn't all his blood. Despite all of this, though, he felt cold. Freezing, in fact. His leg bounced and his teeth chattered wildly, but Remus knew it wasn't the temperature getting to him.

It became hard to swallow, and although the sting of blood grew hot on his tongue, Remus gnawed on his chapped lips as he blinked away tears. Images of Marlene – there one moment, then all over the flat the next – drippled into the forefront of his mind; she didn't even have time to scream. Maybe, he thought, it was better that way? She went quickly. Fabian, on the other hand, died slowly in agony; even hours later, in the early hours of the morning, he could hear him wailing. His voice was faint, muted over the static ringing in his ears.

Don't, the Wolf ordered.

A transformation approached; with his body under such stress and so little of his mind focusing on this reality, the Wolf had a clear opening to taunt him. It took this opportunity, leering about the events that transpired.

It was all Remus' fault. He should've told the Order about Peter when he had the chance – in the very beginning. Now Sirius was locked up somewhere in the Ministry before they could transfer him somewhere else; Remus prayed to God it wasn't Azkaban, but the chances were likely.

Those who'd survived the attack, the assault at Malfoy Manor included, had been gathered by the wizarding police for questioning; it had been Remus with the questions, though. Question about his friends' wellbeing, about Sirius' whereabouts, when he'd be able to visit the lot of them.

The door swung open behind him, a draft blowing in from the hallway. He shivered lightly, bracing himself for what was to come.

The Ministry knew of his Lycanthropy; he was on the official registry. No doubt, he'd be interrogated as such – as a threat. It wouldn't be a pleasant encounter with the official, Remus just knew it. Still, he'd offer as much information as he could to help. If giving up the details of the Order meant seeing Sirius to freedom and Pettigrew behind bars, he'd divulge in a heartbeat.

A man, no older than thirty, sat down before him. He was lean and tan, his hair slicked back tightly to reveal a handsome face. His eyes, a sharp blue, bore into Remus' figure; if looks could kill, he'd be dead. There was no pity in his eyes nor tenderness. He was all business, so it seemed, and his work would include making this interview hell for Remus. A silence stretched on for what felt like minutes, uncomfortable and thick. Remus squirmed in his chair; a harsh shriek sounded as the other Aurors locked the door from the outside.