There was something niggling in the back of Marleneās head, something that reminded her of the guilty feeling sheād felt when werewolves had come upāsomething that she normally wouldnātĀ feel guilty for, something she didnāt have any explicitĀ reason to feel guilty for with Remus, but something that hollowed in her stomach nonetheless. It felt like getting too close to something that sheād never allowed herself to say, never even really, properly, allowed herself to even thinkābut that was silly. Wasnāt it? She wasnāt sure if she was ready to chase that thought down to the point where she could put words to the feeling in her gut, or maybe she wasnāt sure if RemusĀ was ready, because she had an uncomfortable tendency to need to say something out loud when it was an explicit truth burning inside of her. She pushed that down, away, ignoring the voice that said change the subject, McKinnon, because doing that would be acknowledging something she wasnāt sure she was allowed to, even if only to herself. It was a complicated, messy thing, being inside of Marlene McKinnonās head, and this was no exception.
āRight?ā Marlene exclaimed, maybe too loud, something to compensate for the maybe too long silence from Remus beforehand. Marlene was very good at avoidance mechanisms, but sometimes she chose strange ways to do so. Such as clinging to the topic at hand, despite the fairly obvious fact that it was also incredibly relevant to what she wasnāt explicitly thinking about in her own head. Truths, sometimes, could swallow up the space in between, the hollow between two people, housed in trust, even if it was never said out loud.
And because of these thoughts that she wasnāt trying to think but was unable to suppress entirely, Marlene did not want to explain what Caroline Flint had said, but anger derived from injustice and the impulsive storm of unstoppable recklessness gaining momentum that was Marlene McKinnon led her to that point anyway.Ā āSomething about how just because a werewolf looks likeĀ āusā,ā she grumbled, air quotes around the us,Ā ādoesnāt mean theyāre the same, just like how a Muggle can look like a wizard even if they donāt have any magicāwhich is complete bullshit, which I told her,ā she added fiercely.Ā āThe stuff she was saying was completelyĀ out of line,ā she said firmly, her brows knitting together in her annoyance.Ā āThe entire conceptĀ of dividing living things into Beasts and Beingsāand Spirit, actuallyāis ridiculous, as if we have the right to determine what anything or whom anyone is, but the idea that someone can be a personāa Beingāwhen in oneĀ form but is something that the world considers less in anotherāwhich is also really fucking shitty, I would personally consider a dragon to be of higher value to society and better company than Snape, the colossal twatā¦ but anyway, the concept that someone could be a Being in one form but are inherently of different worth because of another form is justāitās barbaric, you canāt divide a person like that, itāsāugh,ā Marlene reeled off finally, breathing heavily, having barely taken any breaths during the entire rant.Ā āAlso, Beasts having a classification based on their danger to humans? HumansĀ endanger humans. WeāreĀ the monsters.ā Marlene set her face into a frustrated expression, still stoked by the fires of injustice and frustration and furyā¦ until she took a breath. Then, the fires did not go out, but they were tempered by a sense of supreme guiltāone that would not make sense to most, but did to the most inner parts of Marlene, the parts that knew and loved magical creatures and defense and her friends more than anything, the part that had put together pieces that she hadnāt let herself consciously acknowledge. That part was humming with something terrible and loud and guilty, and so she retrieved another sugar quill and stuck it in her mouth, lest she say anything else, and pushed several more towards Remus.
Remus wanted nothing more than to agree with Marlene, but he couldnāt. Not entirely. Of course heād tell her that he disagreed with the classification system, and it wouldnāt be a lie, not entirely. At his core he knew it was wrong. His lycanthropy didnāt make him less human; it was a medical condition. Vampires and other intelligent creatures didnāt deserve persecution just because their biology was different. He would fight for these ideals any day, but he saw the exceptions Marlene didnāt seem to take into account.Ā
All creatures were good at their core, Remus had to believe that. There were exceptions, of course. There were bad people like Voldemort and his followers. There were bad werewolves too; Greyback and others who purposefully spread the disease, who didnāt care how many people they killed along the way. The man, the monster, Greyback, whatever he was, had hurt Remus. Even if that made them the same in some sick way it didnāt mean he had to think Greyback was entitled to an ounce of humanity. He damn near killed him when Remus was four years old. He survived, but he was far from unscarred. Once a month Remus lost himself. Of course at the end of the day he was the same being, but he had to separate himself from the wolf for the sake of his own sanity. The wolf craved blood, and human flesh and things he could hardly bare to think of in his human state. The wolf had never killed anyone, but if he was allowed out he would. He wanted to. It was hard to believe that the wolf deserved much more than Greyback did. Sure, he could be free on human days, but regulation didnāt seem like the worst idea.Ā
Of course the ministry's system of dealing with werewolves was far from helpful. It didnāt protect werewolves or anyone else. It didnāt provide safe places for transformations or potions that made the pain of the aftermath of a transformation bearable. All it did was spread fear throughout the public. Fear of wolves was reasonable, but humans with lycanthropy? Most of them were harmless. Punishing Greyback and his sort was fair, but Remus and those like him? They were victims of a crime they didnāt ask for. They didnāt try and spread that pain to others. They just wanted to cope, but their society made it near impossible. People like Remus were shunned for daring to survive their attacks. He understood, but it still stung. It may have been hidden under internalized hatred of himself, but he knew it wasnāt right.
This was all much more than Remus himself could understand. He had no way of articulating things he wouldnāt admit to himself, and he had no desire too. He didnāt want anyone to know the things the wolf thought. Lying about himself felt selfish, but he wasnāt sure he could survive being truthful. Not everyone would hate him right away, but it seemed like a matter of time. The more one learned about the werewolves the more they had to be terrified of. Remus wasnāt going to give people a reason to be afraid of him. They would have been justified, but he couldnāt live with himself if everyone saw him as monster; even if it was the truth.
Remus plucked at the pile of sugar quills slowly as he spoke. He twirled them each in his fingers, and observed them methodically before gripping onto them tightly.Ā āHumans endanger every form of life. Weāre probably the deadliest species alive. Of course creatures as flawed as us would come up with this shitty system of classification. Itās no wonder most other beings want nothing to do with wizards,ā he shook his head and directed his attention back to the pile of sugar quills. He grabbed three more-- two so that the four sugar quills heād grabbed as heād spoke would be a number divisible by three and one to suck on. As though the sugar could somehow cure the sour taste of lies that lingered in his mouth.
