Marauders - Always - Part One

I am a Werewolf

Spencer Stewart woke in a strange bed, laying on his back in a room he did not recognize. He could smell so many different things, it was overwhelming, like his senses were on overdrive. He couldn't even identify all the things he could smell, some of the smells were almost a feeling more than a smell, like it was on a completely different level than he had ever smelled something before. And the sounds. He could hear things that weren't there in the room, like phantoms, like far off noises being channeled into his ears. It was like his eyes were seeing one thing but his senses picking up on another room. His mouth, too, tasted funny and thick, and his muscles were tight, bones achey as he pushed himself up from the pillows to a sit.

He was in a pair of pyjamas that did not belong to him and felt bigger than he needed so they felt baggy, like a child wearing a couple sizes too large to "grow into". But they smelled laundered, like detergent, and something... musky, like a forest, with just a hint of warmth like cloves or cinnamon.

As he moved his bones made cracking, popping noises like an old man's body.

He got up, a bit dizzy and utterly disoriented. The waist of the pyjama bottoms was too loose and he yanked the drawstring tighter. He walked across the room as he tied it and looked out the window. Outside was a field, which spread away to a far tree line. There was some sort of game equipment stuck into the ground, big steel rings that looked like a child's drawing, and a garden, walled, with loads of flowers and growing things.

Spencer turned about and on the night stand was a glass of water and he lunged for it, realizing upon sight of it just how incredibly parched he was. He drank the entire glass in a single go, swallowing quickly as he poured it into his mouth. When he put the cup down... it refilled itself.

He stared at it with wide eyes.

Spencer shook his head, rubbed his eyes, and drank it empty again... and again the glass refilled itself the moment he put it down on the night stand.

He felt a chill go up his spine.

He had to wake up - that's all. A dream. There was no such thing as a water glass that refilled itself.

The panic that rose up in him made his heart race and he looked around, trying to remember what his last conscious moment was. Tea - tea in Remus Lupin's kitchen.

Remus Lupin, but not Remus Lupin... A huge, grey wolf with green eyes that stared down at him, teeth bared, drool dripping in thick ropes from his jowls... back lit by the silver of a full moon and the silhouettes of tree tops, looming, like they were leaning in to watch.

But that had to be part of the dream.

Didn't it?

Spencer brought his hand up to his shoulder instinctively, the shattered image of that wolf biting down into his flesh, the searing pain like boiling water running through him... and he found a bandage on his shoulder.

His breath left him and he turned, looking for a mirror or anything that might reflect his image back to himself. He spun to the window again, tearing back the shoulder of the pyjama top, and saw himself like a semi transparent ghost staring back. He peeled away the bandages, frantic, and found there the horrific half moon wound.

And it wasn't the only scar.

He undid the buttons of the pyjama and found that his chest was striped with pink lines, one deep gash oozed blood, as did the half moon wound.

His arms, too, and he squinted into his own eyes and saw a short gash on his cheek that ran vertical from his right cheek bone over his jaw.

Spencer let out a cry, a strangled scream of a sound, and frantically looked around him, unsure what to do, what to think, where he was, what was happening, if he was even awake, if he was even sane.