SWEET DREAM OR A BEAUTIFUL NIGHTMARE

[charlton 'raffi' glashtyn]

When I close my eyes I'm going out of my head
Lost in a fairytale, can you hold my hands and be my guide
Clouds filled with stars cover the skies
And I hope it rains, you're the perfect lullaby
What kinda dream is this?
You could be a sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare.

RESERVED FOR NOEMI

Rain lashed his face, plastering his short hair to his scalp and driving his clothes to stick to his form. His hunched shoulders and bowed head did little to avail the fury of both rain and wind combined, rivulets of water streaking down his spine like icy fingers on his already damp skin. He could hardly help but wonder if the weather had a bone to pick with him, its tantrum had been so abrupt and so furious. He wasn't dressed for the weather, his garish purple joker t-shirt and dark jeans soaked through, his feet beginning to squidge uncomfortably in his black leather boots - the water running down his shins from his jeans. Half-heartedly he attempted to paw some of the water from his eyes with a curled hand, but as soon as it disappeared, another gust would splatter him with replacements. How could he have been the only one stupid enough to get caught in such a downpour? Squinting through the steely spears of the rain, he couldn't see any other figure hurrying as he did....yet it had been bright sunshine in the morning, and all had been clad in similar attire. Grimacing, he could only thank god that he was a werewolf, his unusual body heat allowing him the small pleasure of avoiding the chills that usually came with being so wet.

A reprieve was suddenly offered, a shadowy form against the bleak grey weather which Raffi recognised to be the short wooden archway which extended over the entrance to the garden, and in the height of summer was usually covered with sweet smelling trailing flowers of many varieties. He didn't have a tendency to sink into black thoughts, but this spate of bad luck had his mood levelling pretty low - and despite being as soaked as he possibly could be, Raffi couldn't deny that this sudden shelter brought forth a rush of relief and gratitude that instantly lifted his spirit. Reaching the archway, he leant gratefully in the opening - staring out into the filthy weather with mixture of amazement and disgust. His scalp tickled, his body heat already beginning to dry out the ends of his dry hair and skin, and he ran a hand through it absently, knuckling the water from his face.

His lips pursed unconsciously, as his thoughts drifted to the last time he had experienced weather like this. The weather obviously was trying to tell him something, he mused uncomfortably, a frown furrowing his tanned brow. That was the night he'd lost himself. Become a lost boy of sorts. He had no memory of anything before that night, and had no idea the person he'd once been...or if he was even the same person still. He didn't remember much, aside from the pouring rain and the headlights - but Minnie and Rita had told him he'd been hit by a car. They'd found him buck naked on the verge when they'd taken their dog for a walk in the morning. He didn't have a scratch on him aside from a nasty bruise on the side of his face. He put that down to him being a werewolf. Either fast healing, or it did just didn't hurt like it was meant to in the first place. Rita and Minnie had taken him in, clothed him, cut his hair, and made him their own. They even registered him at Beauxbatons, their local wizarding school. It had befuddled all of them how Raffi had an extremely prominent Irish accent, yet had ended up in thick French countryside in the middle of nowhere. He grinned suddenly, thinking what a shock it must have been to find him naked on the side of the road. Lucky, lucky ladies.

So far, he'd been at the school for a month. He figured he must have been schooling elsewhere as no-one seemed to have queried his arrival or apparent disappearance. He didn't know what life used to be like, he was pretty sure he hadn't changed much....but he felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was more comfortable with himself and anything he was, and the depression he remembered from the night of the accident had disappeared. Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps he was meant to have a fresh start. As if in response, the rain pelted the side of the archway furiously. Or perhaps not.