Luna(tic) (Marauders Era)

17. Cracks in the Spaces Between Them

Luna dreamed of claws. She dreamed of sharp talons and matted fur and gleaming, all too human eyes staring at her from above teeth that dripped with a mix of saliva and blood. She dreamed of a beast on her chest that sent fire along her scars and chased the breath from her lungs. She dreamed of fear. She dreamed of pain. She dreamed of the moon that never spoke and never moved. That stared down at her as her blood was spilled beneath its light. That watched and watched and never bothered to help. She dreamed the same nightmares she always had, now so familiar and worn they felt more like memories.

They didn't wake her. They never did anymore. They were old. Their fear was known and even if it ached, Luna knew it would pass. They had long since stopped chasing her from sleep. They barely even made the list of reasons she stayed up so late on full moon nights, though that list was long. Very long. Because she did stay up late. And tonight, the only difference was where she stayed up.

Because Luna never did make it back up to her bed that night. She fell asleep on the couch she had claimed in front of the window, her eyes closing somewhere along the line and leaving nothing but the palest shine of moonlight seeping through them. She fell asleep pretending she was at home, on the ratty old couch with its stuffing peaking through that usually served as a bed on these nights when the moon was full. She fell asleep knowing exactly which nightmares would haunt her, exactly what fears would make her blood run cold. Exactly how clammy her skin would feel. She fell asleep half expecting to be woken by her mother's soft tones and open her eyes to a face that was smiling through an exhaustion and worry she knew her mother tried so very hard to hide. She expected to wake to promises that the fears weren't real. To murmurs about dusting off the terror and offers to boil water for tea. She expected to wake to all the comfort that was as familiar as the nightmares themselves.

Of course, she didn't.

She woke to sunlight and strangers and the sinking sensation that came with returning memories. She woke to the usual ice in her veins and cold sweat down her back and no one to promise that it was all in her head.

She woke up to a sigh. To a familiar voice.

"Couch huh?" Sam asked and though his voice should have been flat and judgemental, instead it was just worried. Tight. Tired with a touch of something like resigned.

And still, Luna uncurled herself slowly, not immediately looking at her friend. At her shadow. At this boy she knew she owed too many apologies to. This boy who should be shouting, not asking implied questions about her welfare.

She yawned before she answered, stretching and letting her eyes rove over the room, taking in the handful of other people in the place, each at their own separate table, bent over books and parchment. She let herself linger on them. On their normalcy. On that elusive something that screamed at her from each of their simple actions taken in simple lives on a simple morning.

And then she nodded at nothing and finally, finally turned to look at Sam.

He looked like he always did on these mornings. Pale and somewhere between solid and see through. Like a ghost. A real one. She felt a fear that was all too like her nightmares slither down her spine at the sight of it, as painful today as it was every other time she saw him like this.

For a long moment, he didn't say anything. And neither did she. And though they had shared many silences, especially in these mornings when it was impossible to pretend he was anything other than imaginary, this one was heavier than usual, weighed down by all the unsaid things left between them before the full moon had dawned.

"We need to talk, Luna," Sam said after a long pause and the words sent that fear skittering back up Luna's spine, cramming itself into her brain and making it go blank and terrified.