Remus & Dorcas || They Are Coming
DATE: June 1, 1978
LOCATION: Hogwarts Castle; Attack Number One
INSPIRATION: Run Boy Run- Woodkid
Brittle and pallid was his day and mood as wings flittered and flung him across a void of dead reaches and the skeleton arms of trees. And there crisscrossed a delicate shape among nothing. Dainty silhouette flew starkly against the hunger in his belly as he trekked again, breathless. Now again he must journey to satiate that immeasurable hunger that drives him day and night again, again across this empty void, hoping to find at last some small source of sustenance to satiate that forsaken hunger.
Dainty silhouette perches atop the arm of a dead tree and rests his bones, for what else was left to rest. Half consumed by vague delirium, half by pale cold, he spots a mile away a clearing, like an oasis amongst the winter clutched forest. He departs with no delusions regarding a nobler goal other than to survive. He flies, he flies again, because what else is left but to fly. A chilled and diffuse gust reminds him of life by contradicting any last faint ember that burns within his heart. Now, here he is. He beholds the scene.
It was on the periphery of the forest that he looked back at last, the scene of crumbled structure and bodies fallen like dead leaves to the ground, unknowing if they’d survived. His flight instinct kicked in when curses got too close for comfort and Remus fled without thought, a masked villain hot on his heels all the way to the edge of the woods, a second home that he knew well for, during the right time of the month, he was the forest’s most threatening creature.
He heaved a breath, senses heightened as his inner wolf perched on the edge, watching and waiting for the next attack. Any indication of human life and he would strike, more fast and vicious than a cornered snake. His ears buzzed from chaos but he heard every last breeze tickling the leaves and coo of an owl out of sight. Remus’s chest heaved, his green eyes searching the plains within sight and--
A twig snapped and he was on them like moths to light; leaping from his spot, wand outstretched and pointed in attack at a dainty silhouette crouched nearby.
“Stupe---” but he cut himself off just in time as tufts of dark hair fell from a pale, unmasked face on a girl who appeared familiar. “Shit- fuck. I’m sorry. I thought-- oh fuck, are you hurt?”
