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

Heebie-Jeebies

"the timing wasn't wrong. who we were at the time was wrong."
-sandralidell (via wng-writers)

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Lupin Cottage, December 1974

Whether or not he opened his eyes didn't matter, the scene remained the same. Darkness. Nothing but cold, harsh darkness and the trickle of dripping water from the corner. Not a shred of light spilled out from the bottom of doors or the panes of windows; the room didn't even have any. It reminded him an awful lot of the shed in Walter's Ash. Concrete floors, the scent of bloody urine, and the chill of silence.

His hands were tied behind his back, rope pulled painfully taut around his skin. It cut into his wrists, digging in as he tried to free himself. He twisted and pulled, straining to break his bonds. He knew, by then, it only made things worse. The slickness of blood dampened his palms.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this, he felt. Something had gone wrong. One moment they're planning to save the day, rescue a friend, and stop the war, and the next thing Remus knew he'd been tied to a chair in this bloody room with not a soul to cry for help for. It was all fouled up, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to fix it. Shame and the burden of failure weighed heavily on his chest, only interrupted by the smoothness of a serpentine voice.

"Keep this one alive," it purred.

Remus shuddered, suddenly aware of the proximity and coolness of lifeless breath on his neck. The hairs on his body stood on end, high alert senses now his powerhouse. The presence near him only strengthened, making his insides roil in discomfort and tension.

"Oh, Remus Lupin," it whispered, lips brushing against his ear. His movements were not his own, unable to jerk away or recoil from the frigid touch. "Such a delicate one you've always been."

"I am not delicate," Remus spat, fire blazing in his chest.

A soft snicker resounded across the room, taking delight in his discomfort, "Tsk tsk, don't make such a fuss, dear boy. You've much more to worry about than a mere adjective."

Remus stilled, clenching his fists till his own nails drew blood, "Who are you?" Silence echoed in response. "Show me your face, coward!"

A hand slid around his neck, grasping him tightly and cutting off the flow of oxygen. His legs kicked out from beneath him, desperately hoping to soothe the pain creeping up his throat.

"If you search deep enough, you'll find yourself, young Lupin. Come to me when you've realized your potential in this waging war."

Stars bubbled in front of his eyes, wild colors and shapes whizzing around his head. Remus could feel the pressure building in his face, cheeks tinting a light shade of purple.

Remus woke with a whimper, legs frantically pushing him towards the head of the bed. The air rushed back into his lungs as he heaved deep, laborious breaths, his skin and sheets damp with sweat. Tremors raked through his body, his fingertips dancing with tension. The room was still quite dark, only a fraction of morning light spilling into the window. Dawn had just begun. Remus was thankful. Though he wouldn't admit it to anyone, he wasn't sure how he'd fare in the dark.

He moved to sit on the edge of his bed, rubbing his face to rid himself of the nightmare. It'd been quite some time since having one so vivid. Every detail was etched into his memory; the type of chair, the rhythmic pitter-patter of the leaky pipe, and the serpent-like voice were all engrained inside of his skull. The voice was unfamiliar, yet strangely felt known. But it was all the same; it made him extremely uncomfortable in his own skin.