The problem with Sirius is that while he's incredibly cruel at times, he can also be incredibly thoughtful. My transformations . . . when I was a child, my mother used to risk being bit by me, being killed by me, because she couldn't stand hearing me scream and not being able to do anything about it. The pain is . . . it doesn't last, but I usually have to stay in bed for the next two days, because it's so exhausting.
When they figured out what I was, when I was thirteen, I really did think I was done for. Werewolves are pariahs in our society; I figured they'd either beat me or out my secret-- or perhaps both. But what they did . . .
[He smiles vaguely, remembering.]
Every person has an animal they're intricately associated with. Mine is, of course, a wolf, but it can be anything-- something that represents you at your core, what you truly are. James is a stag, something noble and wise, and Peter is a rat, small and furtive and clever-- and Sirius is a dog, loyal and brave and, at his core, loving. He wants to make everyone laugh, and be happy, and in that quest he doesn't think. But anyway-- there's a spell in our world that lets us become that animal at will. It's incredibly difficult, and if it goes wrong, it goes quite badly; there are hundreds who end up in the hospital every year because they do it wrong.
But when they found out what I was . . . they spent the next two years working on that spell, desperate to make it. Animals are safe from werewolves, you see; the wolf doesn't care about animal flesh. Only human.
[He smiles sadly.]
They transform with me every month without fail, and keep me in check. The pain is marginally less, and Moony is so much calmer with them.
And Sirius-- he's the one who sticks by me most, who endures the most injuries when Moony gets upset; he's the one who finds me clothes at dawn and carries me back to the school.
no subject
[He sighs again and moves to lie on his stomach.]
The problem with Sirius is that while he's incredibly cruel at times, he can also be incredibly thoughtful. My transformations . . . when I was a child, my mother used to risk being bit by me, being killed by me, because she couldn't stand hearing me scream and not being able to do anything about it. The pain is . . . it doesn't last, but I usually have to stay in bed for the next two days, because it's so exhausting.
When they figured out what I was, when I was thirteen, I really did think I was done for. Werewolves are pariahs in our society; I figured they'd either beat me or out my secret-- or perhaps both. But what they did . . .
[He smiles vaguely, remembering.]
Every person has an animal they're intricately associated with. Mine is, of course, a wolf, but it can be anything-- something that represents you at your core, what you truly are. James is a stag, something noble and wise, and Peter is a rat, small and furtive and clever-- and Sirius is a dog, loyal and brave and, at his core, loving. He wants to make everyone laugh, and be happy, and in that quest he doesn't think. But anyway-- there's a spell in our world that lets us become that animal at will. It's incredibly difficult, and if it goes wrong, it goes quite badly; there are hundreds who end up in the hospital every year because they do it wrong.
But when they found out what I was . . . they spent the next two years working on that spell, desperate to make it. Animals are safe from werewolves, you see; the wolf doesn't care about animal flesh. Only human.
[He smiles sadly.]
They transform with me every month without fail, and keep me in check. The pain is marginally less, and Moony is so much calmer with them.
And Sirius-- he's the one who sticks by me most, who endures the most injuries when Moony gets upset; he's the one who finds me clothes at dawn and carries me back to the school.