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𝕽emus felt sick. He's too overwhelmed, guilt, regret and distress eating him away inside with a churning stomach, bile rising to his throat as the image of the ethereal veela being haunted with the three lines that mirrors his paw once a month.
Sure, it could have been a lot worse now, he could be grieving her, mourning her, losing her forever when their life together has only just begun. Sure, he didn't inflict the scratch that tore the flesh of her porcelain skin, he wasn't the one who had poisoned her with his venom, working to imbalance the chemicals that had previously worked in harmony perfectly balanced. Sure, she wasn't going to be a werewolf like he was.
It didn't make him feel any better.
He couldn't be mad at Sirius, because whilst he had warned him to take care of her...it was his own kind who had done this to her. The same monster who tormented him since that fateful night from him being five years old, had now touched her. He'd gotten to his Willow when he swore to himself he'd never let anyone lay a finger on her, especially not Fenrir Greyback.
He had a gut feeling that something was going to happen, what kind of husband was her to let her out of sight? If he was with her than maybe— maybe she wouldn't be hurt now. He should have refused Dumbledore like he wanted to, demand he go with Willow and Sirius instead so he could stay close, to hell with the no couples together rule.
His tired eyes fixated on her rising and falling chest underneath the scarlet blanket she had been covered in to keep her warm. He couldn't bare to leave her side, despite the many tries everyone had tried to coach him into getting some sleep. When it's his time of the month, she never leaves him, she's always there for him, helping with her charm out of the goodness of her heart, the least he could do would be staying with her.
For around the fourth time, he grabs the bucket Mia had laid besides him after he threw up the first time, his insides twisting into knots as he vomits with a wretch, once more finding his eyes burning with tears threatening to spill wickedly from his blood shot eyes. He's not shy from throwing up, it's a common occurrence around full moons, the feeling of emptiness dragging his gut.
This was different.
A different type of pain.
Wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jumper when he's finished, he mutters a quick spell to clean up the bucket again, reaching out to latch his hand onto hers he was previously holding, his slender fingers lacing with hers, welcoming the stinging burn he had accumulated from her rings rubbing against his skin when he held on tightly.
He dreads to think what it would be like if something fatal happened to her. To any of them now. This was real, the first real injury in the group, Regulus' scratch faded within days, and the others' bruises and cuts were healed easily, this one was to last a lifetime with rotten memories to last along with it.
How much more would they have to go through until it was enough?
