(It was very dark and silent except for the flight of small, vulture-like birds around which looked as if they were grief-stricken; their eerie cry also disturbed the silence every once in a while.)

(The wind, which had been constantly whistling through these unidentifiable, dark surroundings, whistled, and a green tree-branch gave a soft whoosh and- since a cloud had apparently slipped and revealed a bit of the moon- let a lone ray of moonlight shine on his face for a split second, which gave his insides a stingy, foreign feeling.) He started to sweat, and for the time that seemed like the thousandth, the voice- the voice in his mind that, he now knew, was what had told him to fear what he does not understand, to stay away from what was not comfortable and known- forced itself upon his mind. "You are not familiar with this place. You want to stay away from it. You want to go back to your comfortable house and leave this place alone."

"No, I don't," he answered through gritted teeth, a drop of sweat bubbling on his forehead. "Not this time. I want answers." (The tree he had been hacking at gave way.)

It was not as if this component of the unknown was something new in his life in general; any memory he had attempted to recollect from before the 1950s- now 44 years ago- seemed to slip through his mind like water through a colander. It was all incredibly hazy. (the haze settled over the forest, making progress even more difficult but lending it a somewhat sublime, faerie-like, visual ambience.) And for the 44 years that he had remembered himself relatively clearly, he would simply… he could not find any other way to describe it… skip days. (He looked up to see that the clouds had thickened and blackened ominously.) Every thirty days or so, he would suddenly find himself in his living room, everything perfectly normal except for the fact that a day had passed without him noticing, leaving him feeling bewildered and helpless. (How long would he have to chop through this inscrutable tangle of wood and exotic vines until he understands what his destination is?)

He had learned to live with all of those, repressing them. Whenever he tried to bring himself to inquire, the same numbing force that always made him run at the sight of even the slightly abnormal would force him not to. (Through the thick, white haze, a lone drop of water braved the descent from the unfathomably umbral, star-lorn skies onto his back, and its silent brethren followed, softly splashing against the muddy ground he wearily treaded upon…) but this had to end. Ever since the nightmares began, he had always known it must.

(The wind strengthened, silencing every other sound with its horrific whistle blending with the massive gallons of water colliding with the ground and canopy. The woods and bushes forcefully whished back and forth as if possessed; He was starting to freeze…)

They were always the same. (The trees gave a violent whistle again and lightning crashed, blinding the forest with sharp bluish-white as if it were the flash of the nonexistent gigantic camera freezing fragments of the forest's existence to reminisce on them forevermore.) An assembly of menacingly brilliant green sparks creating a shape, a skull (thunder roared of loneliness and frustration. He was drenched to the bone in freezing water but hacked on relentlessly) with a snake as a tongue, and his family members being abused, being flipped in the air, and echoes of sadistic laughter… (The wrath of nature was deafening.)

He had followed every clue he could get his hands upon. Mainly the blurry memory of a red-haired man named Weasley in his nightmares- having some problem with exchanging the money… He obsessed about the name as if it was the only certainty in a maze of smoke and mirrors, decided to follow it everywhere, at all costs… and when the path led here, where supposedly there was some castle where somebody named Weasley could be found, there was no other option…

(Drenched in water, he hacked through the tree blocking his way relentlessly until, accompanied by a massive wind-whistle that almost concussed him, it snapped. He noticed for the first time that the rain had stopped for some time. The puffy, solid black clouds above were slowly starting to drift apart… The sounds have suddenly ceased…)

(The clouds continued to spread away.) "No! Noooo! What have I done?!" (, His own voice shouted. Cloaked shapes approached him, the wind was mute, the colour was draining out of the forest and turning it grey…-) "I- I deserve nothing less of being stripped of my powers, my identity… I have ruined this boy's life…" (He was at the same time on his knees, flapped at by the merciless wind, blind, and on the sun-bathed front yard of the Lupins, more than forty years younger, in front of the crumpled, bitten form of a child... Turning his own wand against himself…) "Imperio! Find somewhere where you cannot do anybody harm and go there before every transformation. Avoid the unusual, avoid the wondrous! Be an outcast… abolish magic… let the incompleteness and the mundanity consume you, because that is what you deserve…" tears were clouding his vision, and through them he shouted at the uncaring cerulean sky, "SCUM! I CANNOT TAKE THIS ANYMORE! I CANNOT LIVE WITH THIS! OBLIVIATE!"

(The cloaked figures were at arm's length, sending forward a slimy grey hand…)

Moonlight.

(The clouds have drifted apart and he looked up to see the full moon shining, lighting the now silent clearing, for the wind has ceased… a feeling both familiar and new, every one of his body cells celebrating the new strength and vigour trailing through them, the vitality of the wolf.)

(And with the fury of frustration, incompleteness and loneliness accompanied by a mighty roar, Mr. Roberts lashed out to at long last confront the demons…)