Prologue: I was a very small boy when I received the bite
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Your son is a dead weight in your arms. He is as cold as ice, but he is not shivering. He is not moving. Only bleeding. You tilt your face towards his and kiss his forehead. You feel his ragged breath on your cheek. You utter a silent prayer of thanks; he is still alive. You murmur a plea to you son, begging him to hold on, to stay fighting… to stay breathing.
You reach the Manor and step through the threshold. Your husband greets you. His face instantly pales and he falls to his knees. He asks you what has happened, but you cannot reply; your voice dies in your throat. He takes your son from you and cradles him in his own arms, sobbing meaningless words of regret and sorrow. None of those words mean anything to you, for it was him that made this happen to your son. You ask your husband why he made the decision that he did, your voice racked with sobs. You ask him why he did not believe the words of the man that threatened him only a fortnight ago. He does not reply.
You move to take your son from him, but he pulls away. He turns and begins to walk away from you; his son still cradled in his arms. He utters useless words, telling you what needs to be done to save your son. You do not hear his words. You step towards him, summoning all of the strength that you can muster. You pull him around to face you and prise your son out of his arms. You tell him to leave you alone, to leave your son alone. You tell him he has done enough damage already. He moves towards you, to touch his son, to touch you… to hit you. You feel the sing of the pain on your face without registering what has happened. You look into his eyes and see no sorrow there, no guilt and no regret. There is something else in his eyes, something that he is trying to disguise. It is relief. He is glad that he is alive.
The recognition of it sends an icy knife through your heart. You clutch your son to yourself as though he is your lifeline and close your eyes, concentrating every fibre of your body on your destination, and step forward into oblivion.
You arrive. A mass of noise, voices, movement, chaos surrounds you instantly. You can't focus. You cling to your son and bow your head, allowing your memory to guide you. You walk for what feels like an eternity until you hear the noise behind you. A sharp crack shatters the indifference around you. You turn to face its source; your husband. He tells you to give your son to him, that he will ensure that he is cared for. You tell him that you can do the same. You turn your back on him and continue your pace. He calls your name, rushing to match your stride. A Healer passes you and you reach out and touch their arm.
A mass of voices, of bright white rooms, of potions and remedies… then silence. And you are left alone, crying silently. Mourning for your broken son.
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You're crying. You have been for the past twenty-four hours as you stand and watch you son sleeping. You almost laugh: he is not sleeping. He if drifting between life and death.
He is a cursed child now. It isn't his fault. He won't understand. It isn't fair to him, to burden him with this curse. But now he has no choice… unlike his father. His father had the choice between his own death and his son being cursed. You know which you would have chosen. You know that you should be grateful that they are both alive, but your heart reminds you that one of them has had their life taken from them, and you cannot forgive the other from taking it from them.
It's not right. It's not fair. It's not just. But it's real, and it's happening.
Stop crying. Dry your tears: you are not the one who should be crying. You are alive and well whilst your son lies broken before you. You can never heal him. No matter how much you cry for him, hold him, love him… you can never give him back the life that he could have lived. It has been torn from him, leaving him raw and wounded. The way that he will remain for the rest of his life.
As the werewolf that he will remain for the rest of his life.
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He asks you where you are going as you turn to leave the room. You can't bring yourself to reply. He asks you why you are going. You tell him to be brave and that you love him. You walk out of the door. He asks you not to leave him. You close the door. You lock it.
You lean back against the wall and allow yourself to slide to the floor.
You told yourself that you wouldn't do this.
You listen to your son crying softly, and soon you are crying too. Your husband walks towards you and extends his hand to you. You do not take it. You cannot bring yourself to take it, knowing that it was he who has put your son through the torture that he will endure behind that locked door, every month for the rest of his life. Your husband retracts his hand and breaks his gaze on you. His eyes linger instead on the locked door, and you know that he can hear his son crying. He turns and walks away.
You drag a rug towards yourself and curl up beneath it.
You told yourself you wouldn't do this.
You can hear your son crying. You long to open the door, to run to him, to hold him in your arms and allow your love for him to take his pain away. Your hand closes over the door handle.
You told yourself you wouldn't do this.
The sound of your son's crying dies. Your hand tightens on the door handle. You hear your son gasp, hear a soft thud as he falls to the floor. You hear him cry out in pain.
You hear him call your name.
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Fidelity by Furry Little Problem
Chapter Notes: Disclaimer: All of the characters that you recognise in this fic belong to the legendary JK Rowing. The quotes that title each chapter are 100% the property of JK Rowing, and I take no credit whatsoever for them. The plot as a whole is JR's too, because she told us most of it in the Shrieking Shack scene in PoA, so all I really own is the details of the plot, and the wording :)
Please review when you've read this - I'd love to hear your responses, good and bad.
This is just the Prologue - there are around twenty more chapters to follow, if the Mods will be kind enough to accept them :) The rest of the fic is from the Marauders point of view - this is the only wierd one :)
Enjoy!
Furry