Categories > Books > Harry Potter

Moonrise

by Brianna_Lee 0 reviews

She's different. She's special. She's his. Remus/OC

Category: Harry Potter - Rating: R - Genres: Fantasy,Romance,Sci-fi - Characters: Peter - Warnings: [V] [X] [R] [?] - Published: 2022-02-11 - 1023 words

1Original
The field was filled with the throaty scream of something not quite human. He could sense fear leaking out of everything. The victims, the stones, the killers. He walked alone, a pillar of what it meant to be passive. Power could be seen in his bold stance. The idea that he could be filled with fear was laughable. And yet he was. He hid it well, but it was there, lingering under the surface. Terrifying, bone-quaking, soul deep fear. Fear of what his men now killed.

He passed the screams by and focused his path on his destination. The female stood tall, eyes glaring into him. This was his fear. This was his punishment for waiting so long to destroy it. And now... This was his pleasure. He watched her as she viewed the battlefield. Her gaze was steady but her hands shook. He smiled at the pain he was causing her. Impatience threatened to leak into his emotions but he fought it and worked his way up the hill towards her.

And finally, after years of arduous work and struggle, he reached her. She stood tall, refusing him her dignity, but he still smiled as she leaked fear just as the rest of the field did. Her raven tresses were strung back by pearls. He noted to himself that he would take those before the fight was over. When she finally gazed at him, red eyes dominated her face. Skin as pale as winter snow was glistening with tears. She had long lush lashes and delicate bones. In fact, she was exceptionally beautiful.

“Why?” she asked, her voice trembling as she waited for the answer.

He simply laughed, the sound grating on her sensitive ears. When his final ping of amusement faded, he gazed at her with hard and cold violet eyes.

“Monsters don’t deserve to live.”

“You are just like us!” she protested before the sound of flesh hitting flesh rang out. She reached up a hand at the reddish mark he had left behind on her cheek.

“Don’t,” he said, sounding dangerous, “compare my kind to yours. You feed on humans. We cultivate them.”

“Vampires must eat!”

“And sirens require human emotions! One of us must go and I chose you.”

“Cen, please...”

But her pleads did nothing. He waved a hand over the death and suffering as if to prove his point. The vampires were now all but dead. The sirens were keening into the crisp air, letting their fear slip away as they did as they were born to do.

“I will stop it. You need only tell me where my daughter is,” Cen crooned, softening his voice instinctively, pushing a small bit of power through his words. It had no reaction and she only turned away.

“I will not let you poison Meara.”

“Circe,” he said by warning, anger pulsing in his mind. Circe remained adamant that he would not get the information. His vision turned red and he swung out with vehemence, thrusting his now overgrown nails into his wife, crowing as he felt it hit her heart. But Circe reached up at that instant and plunged a gilded knife straight into his chest.

As both bled out, the vampires rose at the death of their queen. Striking out, both species began to die quickly, none wanting to live as long as their leader was dead. The night sky began to lighten just as the last of both species faded away, breathing their last breath.

That day, blood painted the rivers of the battlefield and trust faded away just as the creatures had. They named it Burning Day and mourned the loss of two species that had such potential. Vampires and Sirens were put down in history books and over time, myths grew. Circe was demoted to the status of a witch instead of a vampire, and said to have turned men into pigs. Cen was relegated to pure Wizard myth, said to have been the one man capable of luring Circe.

They didn’t know that, past the hill and rivers, beyond the cottage where Circe had made her home, further than the graveyard where many of Cen’s family had been buried, hidden in a cradle, and given to a wizened witch by the name of Athena, was a baby girl. Born with snow-white skin and deeply black locks, she resembled her mother in almost every feature. The only difference were her eyes: a cold and dark violet, just like her father's. She was Meara, daughter of Cen and Circe. And her destiny was decided before she was born.

As a hybrid.



A/N: Hey, readers! I know I’ve been a bit unactive and letting some of my story’s rot. I will get back to them, I’m having a bit of a writer’s block these days. But this hit me and I just can’t let go. Though this prologue was set in the past, this story will actually take place in the Marauder’s age. To avoid confusion, I’d like to go over some of Meara’s abilities now. Mind you, these are only the basics she gets from being half-siren and half-vampire.

-Meara is incredibly long-lived. Not being a full-blooded vamp, she is not immortal, but she will live an exceedingly long life. Unless, of course, she chooses to give up her youth for the chance to live and die as a human would.

-She has increased stamina and endurance. She will tire out much slower. She can fight longer and will have more strength behind her attacks, should she end up in a brawl.

-Meara will naturally be more convincing. Think of Tom Riddle. Kind of.

-Her singing voice is particularly good and will enchant even the strongest male UNLESS SHE LOVES HIM or HE IS IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE ELSE. Love acts as a kind of shield to those she sings too. The enchantment is quite weak unless she wants to enchant.

On that note, I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, though short, and I will certainly be sending more your way.
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