MOON MAN. remus lupin ✓

vi. the boy who cried wolf

     As the moon grew, so did Remus' fears. Its shape grew fuller and fuller, night after night; a silver eye of the heavens; a constant voyeur of Remus' night terrors. He tossed and turned, his eyes running a marathon behind his eyelids, sweat dripping down his nose. His breath. Laboured. Laborious. Every second an excruciating century. He awoke every morning to scratches on his sheets and blood on his pillow. Inescapable evidence of his sickness.

Work had begun tire him. He struggled to lift heavy books and often needed to sit down. Liam had him by the till. He gave him longer breaks. He expressed more concern than usual. He noticed. He always noticed, Remus realised. It wouldn't be long before the man cried wolf through the streets of London, alerting every wizard and muggle in Britain that Remus Lupin was a monster.

What a sight that would be, he thought, handing a man his change back. He bought a fantasy novel. Remus hadn't read it, but from the tacky front cover—a woman, her breasts spilling out of her dress, and a man so self-righteous it made Remus gag—he assumed it was bad.

But who was he to judge someone on their taste in literature? When he held a secret so wretched it made the world curl its lip?

The night before the full moon, Remus told Liam he wouldn't be able to come in for the next few days. He didn't take much convincing—he didn't seem suspicious at all. He just ordered Remus to get better in that way of his and shooed him out of the book shop.

Hobbling down the road and apparating once he reached the usual alley seemed ten times harder. He leant against the wall once he arrived, soft, wet pants escaping into the late-evening air. His head pounded in his skull.

He didn't notice when he got to his apartment, simply navigating the building from muscle-memory and unlocking his door. His bed greeted him with a warm embrace.

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