Mischief Managed Y3: Anthem of Lamentation

Chapter One: Blood On Your Hands

AN: Well....it took A LOT longer than I thought it would. But we are here at last :D I hope you enjoy year three more than poor Remus does ^^.'

Summary: Remus has cared for himself to some degree for as long as he can remember. But never before had he been entirely alone in preparing and recovering from a full moon. But he can handle this. He has to....

Song: Running with the Wolves By AURORA

There's blood on your lies

And the sky's open wide

There is nowhere for you to hide

The hunter's moon is shining

I'm running with the wolves tonight

I'm running with the wolves

.................................................

A large basin, stained a rich hue of purple, sat just out of reach of the length the child's shackles afforded him. His bleeding lips, parched and dry, quivered as he stared, transfixed, at the jagged crevice scrawled against the surface of the pottery. He willed it to stretch further—for the fissure to penetrate deeper—but it remained a silent and mocking witness to his plight. He blinked, inspecting the unchanged object with a badly bruised face devoid of emotion,

Time was a blur, marked only by the scuttling of ants across the thick, damp soil beneath him. One insect, a tiny diversion from the monotony, drew his burning gaze away from the source of his current anguish. His tired, empty eyes watched with a detached fascination as a little black dot tickled him. It ventured determinedly up marred skin, reaching the top of a scabbed knee.

He paused before mercilessly squishing the living creature with his small thumb, turning it into a black streak. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of consuming the twitching remains. But he quickly dismissed the thought, convincing himself that his dire hunger hadn't yet reached that level of desperation- his belly had stopped shouting long ago. Now it just stayed coiled into a permanent dull ache. A sudden, intense cramp made him gasp and grip his stomach tightly in a pointless attempt to soothe himself. In sheer desperation, he stretched towards the vase again, chains jangling with the movement, muscles straining as he reached trembling hands darkened by drying mud towards the only source of colour in the underground cell.

He silently pleaded for it to break, imagining finding a twig and pretending to own a wand. But he knew it was futile. The only time he had ever touched a wand was when his father had lovingly placed the toddler on his lap, allowing him to marvel at the smooth wooden object. The unwelcome memory elicited a soft whine, his heart constricting with emotions too complex for his young mind to comprehend.

But magic didn't need an object to channel it, as he would learn many years later.

The flair of despair in his pounding chest sufficed in this instance. Without understanding, the four-year-old wielded the mysterious power he had been growing increasingly afraid of with each new visit from the large, hairy man with jagged teeth. The invisible force caused the crack to grow, spiderwebbing across the surface until the whole thing ruptured. But rather than clear thirst-relieving liquid, a thick red substance splattered everywhere. The child recoiled too slowly, unable to avoid being speckled with blood.

"NOOOO!" he wailed, bone weariness and boredom forgotten in favour of flailing wildly. "NO! NO! NO!" Great heaving sobs escaped him until his cries summoned the deep groaning sound of the trap door. All outer movement ceased while his heart raced in a foolish attempt to flee its prison. Dark spots clouded his vision as the ominous thumping sounds of someone descending the stairs grew louder.