Grown Men And Wet Dreams

isilindill @ 2010-12-04T15: 21:00

Two things:

- If you like the Drarry, I strongly recommend this fic. If you do not like, I recommend to start to like. Translated into Intruders, it may be the best I've read post-war frames. It's super-prepared and therefore there Drarry. Transfigurations of Resonant (whose interview can be found here ) has been considered one of the best fics in the HP fandom English speakers. So what are you waiting?

- Second thing within the first thing: If you pass the Drarry (not should), try this wonder written by mullu probably the best output Summary
veil ever
the author: Written

to demonstrate two simple hypotheses:
1) Remove the veil Sirius is not only possible, but logical and simple, and
2) Sirius and Remus are to desperately JKR admit it or not.

I still do not know what you reading this when you read that.

- Two kinds of truth: I'm doing revision of the fics uploaded to my ff.net account and changing only slightly the parties not convince me. If anyone is encouraged:

Title: Canis Lupus
Fandom: HP , obvious
Warnings: nop

pass and nine, the clouds begin to retreat to make way for the night and a five year old runs around the edge of the forest. His house is not far behind, his mother either, but that matters little because the child, oblivious to the darkness closing on trees, trampling the dry leaves to hear the crunch when they break.

The sky turns indigo, violet and blue tones, something that gradually begins to resemble the black and is covered with stars. And all that light. The dark warm autumn equinox full moon shines in all its glory and it shrinks with the first pull of the skin. Dies. We burn the bones and back meestoymuriendodiosmí or help me partírsele is about two by stress. Misses a smile how absurd it is that there is a terrible pain.

The corners are full of sores and dried blood.

The floor of course hard to fall, and a trunk road that runs into the side hurts, but I just feel it. Can not more, pain is transformed into anger and that can not stand. You have to tear, break, break something. Anything. In itself, it does not matter.

ripping You dirty shirt, revealing a chest stitched scars. A more recent and darker than others, but all painfully visible, terribly real and deep. When his lips and nose become greedy snout meat, and eyes turn to be a sickly yellow, remains motionless. Seems to be dead, exhausted by the agony of transformation. But the moon, your best confidant, shares his secret. It lies in a kind of trance, in communion with it, absorbing all their evil power.

The shortness breath out just before the man escapes now in a sort of growl hungry wolf's nose. Rose with surprising agility and just seconds away from the nearest bushes.

finished collecting the kitchen mientras canturrea una vieja canción. No sabe que su niño aún está en el bosque, jugando entre los árboles. Tampoco que está siendo observado desde la oscuridad, entre dos enormes troncos retorcidos. No oye el escalofriante sonido que produce la criatura en la penumbra, ni puede abrazar al niño para que deje de temblar. Los redondos e infantiles ojos abiertos de par en par, teñidos de miedo y un ¡Mamá! muerto en los labios cuando el ser comienza a moverse hacia él.

Eleva la vista al cielo, y ve toda esa luz, esa estrella tan grande que no es una estrella sino otra cosa de la que ya no recuerda el nombre, pero que le mira con maldad. La misma maldad con la que emerge el lobo de entre la espesura, la respiración errática. Tiene el pelaje oscuro, muy oscuro y muy sucio. Y esas garras, tan enormes, demasiado afiladas para un animal cualquiera.

Deja de tener miedo, porque ya no siente nada. Ni frío, ni ganas de correr. Está mirando fijamente a los ojos del animal, de un amarillo tan brillante que parecen pintados con pintura.

Son solo unos momentos, en los que parece que todo se ha acabado. Porque el lobo parpadea, le observa con inteligencia casi humana y está a punto de girarse hacia el bosque again. It happens in slow motion, that motion. You can almost feel the blood, evil, trickles up to fill those terrible eyes red.

And then nothing.

Days later, the doctor at the nearest village, a man named Miggs, asked what happened that night, getting only answer an emphatic denial of the small , a brown head.

But Remus knows, as he knew the wolf. Know of the fierce bite, the uncontrollable and hot blood pouring from his shoulder. Remember the crooked smile of an animal too evil to be beautiful, and the false teeth gleaming in the silvery light.

And now the two share their secrets with the moon.