Bad Moon Rising

Chapter Three: Waking Nightmare







Welcome to my nightmare……..Welcome to my breakdown………I hope I didn\'t scare you

That\'s just the way we are when we come down………We sweat and laugh and scream here…….\'cuz life is just a dream here………You know inside you feel right at home here









The sun was brutal as it shone through the window and onto the man sleeping on the sofa. He rolled onto his side, his eyes opening into narrow slits as he tried to focus on the room. A wave of nausea accompanied by confusion washed over him as the room slowly stopped spinning and he realized that he was in the library.





“How did I get here?” He asked himself as he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. He groaned as his head began to throb and rested his elbows on his knees, his head clutched between his hands. He felt nauseated and his mouth felt like it was lined with cotton.







Slowly, very slowly, his brain function was being restored. He recalled that the night before was a black moon. He also recalled that it had been far more uncomfortable than any of the books had said. He turned to whiskey to numb the pain and to try and sedate the animal instincts, but it had done little to help.





He had obviously passed out at some point, though he was fuzzy on the details. He did recall an erotic dream involving Hermione. It wasn’t uncommon, he had them often but they were always tender, passionate dreams where he made love to her slowly and carefully. Last night’s dream had been rough, raw and at times downright brutal. They were not accurate depictions of who Remus was but some twisted image brought on by too much whiskey and a rare moon.





He snatched his shirt from the floor, trying to recall when exactly he had removed it. He pulled it on, his back aching in protest as he did. He moved to button it but they were all missing. Thinking he must have ripped them off in his drunken stupor he pulled the damaged halves together and got to his feet, swaying for a moment as the room began to spin again.





He staggered into the hall, the images from his dream becoming clearer and more distracting as he made his way to the bathroom. He could almost feel her, taste her as the images replayed themselves. He winced against the bright fluorescent lights and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He was pale and looked haggard but he didn’t see any of the marks that he was used to seeing.







He turned on the taps and splashed his face with cold water, rinsing his mouth out at the same time. His body responded to the image of Hermione lying in front of him, her legs splayed while he licked her to orgasm. He groaned and rolled his eyes, wondering if his body was ever going to get the hint that Hermione wasn’t meant for a man like him.





He went to the toilet to relieve himself, lifting the seat; after all, there was a witch in the house, and loosening his trousers. It was at that moment that the floor felt like it was falling away from beneath his feet. His cock was streaked with dried blood but there was no injury, no pain.







“No…god no.” He shrugged out of his shirt and turned to examine his back in the mirror. Long red scratches marred his back, fresh marks in twin rows of four. Human scratches. He recalled her nails digging into his back in the dream…only it hadn’t been a dream.







He gasped and then retched into the sink, his stomach heaving painfully as he realized what he had done. He had brutalized a young woman. A young woman that he cared for deeply. He trembled inside and out as he staggered to the tub. He turned the water on full force but kept it ice cold. He shed his clothing and climbed beneath the icy spray.





It was painful, like thousands of shards of ice beating down on his skin, stinging and enhancing the discomfort he already felt. He turned his face up, letting the cold water beat against his face, punishing him, waking him up. When he could take no more he looked down, once more faced with the evidence of what he had done. She had been a virgin, innocent, pure and he had defiled that, stolen it from her.





He reached for the soap and began to scrub his body. He scrubbed until his skin was raw and he was shivering from the icy water. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. He didn’t bother looking in the mirror; he didn’t want to face the monster in the reflection. He apparated himself to his bedroom where he dressed and sat on the end of his bed.







He closed his eyes, tears beginning to leak from beneath the tightly squeezed lids. He recalled every moment now with perfect clarity. Stumbling into the room, the uncontrollable urge to mate, the intoxicating scent of woman. He could see her worried eyes looking up at him, concerned and anxious to ease him. Then the surprise when he grabbed her and jerked her against him, forcing her hand against his arousal.







He also began to remember the way she had held him, returning his kisses, responding to his passion. No….he couldn’t justify his actions just because she had responded to him. She was young, her body unused to such stimulation so she wouldn’t be able to help her reactions. She cared for him, he knew that, if she thought it would help him she would do anything, it was just who she was.







He had betrayed her trust, and now he would have to pay for his sins. Could she ever forgive him for what he had done?









*****Lyric from Alice Cooper’s Welcome to My Nightmare