theshabbiestofmen | IC Contact;

Thank you.

[He rubs his face tiredly.]

I probably won't actually move out. I was just angry.

[She looks at the door]

How long do we have until you think he comes here begging for attention?

[He shakes his head and gestures at the door with his wand.]

Locked. So it doesn't matter. But I'd say . . . oh, I don't know. An hour. Perhaps three. He'll go to James, and depending on what James says-- and I don't think he'll be too happy, to be honest-- he'll either sulk for a while and then try to apologize, or just come and do it directly.

[She probably needs sleep anyway. Really.]

How did you meet him?

We, ah . . . the way it works in our world is that all witches and wizards are on their own for the first eleven years. I mean, we live with our families, but we have no formal education. It's up to the parents to teach things like math, reading, writing, et cetera. But when we're eleven, we're sent to Hogwarts.

So there I was, sitting in a compartment, all alone and terrified. I wasn't technically allowed to be at school as a werewolf, and so I'd already decided I'd try to stick to myself and not get much attention, and that way I'd be safest.

[He smiles at the floor rather fondly.]

But then these two idiots came barging in and sat down. I'm James, one said, and the other grabbed my hand in an enthusiastic handshake. What house are you going to be in? I said I didn't know.

We're for Gryffindor, they said, and I nodded and said I'd rather like that as well. Sirius offered me a chocolate frog, and that was that.

[She just looks away for a moment, and then back at Remus, and she finally actually sees the scars on his face, and then there's that moment where the music in her head - the voice of God - shifts, and she can hear him. It's not altogether comfortable to be able to do that. To hear someone's place in creation.

She takes measure of the notes.]

He's good at finding people in need, and helping them out, isn't he? I was crying, by myself, because I had a fight with someone, and he sent a little paper mouse to cheer me up.

That sounds about right.

[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.

Edited 2013-07-28 19:13 (UTC)

[A tremendous part of her cries out at that. At the idea of pain so bad that it exhausts you, of a transformation so terrible it does all those things to you. It's something so private, so personal, and now Seraphim knows, now she knows, and she's kept so much of herself locked away.

And then things click together.]

He was your dog. The one I met. That's why you got upset when he put his head up my skirt.

[OH SHIT he forgot about that. Remus stares at the floor quite pointedly, his ears gone red.]

Ye-es. Sorry.

[She tweaks his ear - she's not angry, she doesn't mind, but it's a piece of information to file away.]

It must have been nice, to find someone who was loyal like that. Who never abandoned you.

I-- yes. Are you really not angry about that?

[She shakes her head.]

I have secrets, too. Although really he probably should have just asked.

Although I would have said no.

Ye-es, probably a good idea. But yes, he is quite loyal, and kind, and all that rot.

[He wrinkles his nose.]

He's not going to be too happy you know about Padfoot, though. It's sort of a secret. I mean, we don't tell anyone at home, because it's illegal, but-- I don't know. He tells some people here.

[She shrugs]

I'm not happy he was involved in that shooting. We can all be upset at each other.

[And then a moment, because he told her secrets, and he was open, so maybe-]

Don't you ever wonder why I can't speak?

I have, at times.

[He tilts his head.]

But I hadn't wanted to pry.

[She looks a little - concerned, for a moment, but eventually writes something out]

Do you know who the Metatron is?

The voice of God. Right?

Because God's voice can't be heard by people. Right?

[She takes a moment, and fidgets, and after he's read that, she erases it and writes out.]

My soul is the Throne of God. And when I turned fifteen, something happened, and God took residence inside my soul. So He sealed my voice.

[And a pause.]

I'm not crazy.

I didn't think you were.

[Nor does he think she's lying-- but it still takes him a few moments to digest. He glances down, frowning.]

What . . . what does that mean, exactly? Being a Throne of God, and-- and hosting God in you, all that. I don't know what that means.

I don't really know either.

You see why I can't tell anyone? Because it doesn't make sense.

Yes, well. I'm a time-traveling wizard. I don't think much of our lives makes sense anymore.

So-- can you talk, but choose not to, or can you really not at all?

[She's a little surprised he's taking it so well. Most people...don't. Except for people like Dean, people who know that there's things bigger than himself - although Dean doesn't seem to care about that.]

I can't even make noises that aren't vocalizations. Like sighs. Or sniffles. I can't even play the flute anymore.

Goodness.

[He says that quietly, still staring at the floor. And then, again:]

Goodness.

[A beat.]

Have you-- er-- met God, then?

[She nods, tightly. Technically, so has Sirius, although he didn't know it at the time and still doesn't know.]

What's . . . it . . . like?

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