Author's Note: This fic was born from my belief that of all the Marauders, Remus Lupin suffered the most. I am not saying Peter or James or Sirius did not suffer, and I am not invalidating their pain, merely validating Remus'.

Scarred:

The years following the supposed defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the residents of Hogsmeade noticed that the howls of their very own monthly werewolf had grown more pathetic. Snarky residents spread rumors, claiming the defeat of the Dark Lord had devastated the dark creatures of their world, that the demise of Voldemort had quieted all that was evil. After this, they'd drink to their successes, and go on with their lives.

Had anyone taken a moment to go see the beast ('What a crazy thought!' they'd say), they would find a wisp of a wolf, yellow eyes raging with pain and anger and loneliness. They would see the canine's teeth, blunt from digging into its own flesh. They would see its fur, matted with blood and open and reopened wounds and scars. But then again, who would take a chance against the haphazard, violent branches of the Whomping Willow trapping the wolf?

Those few that had the knowledge of how to calm the vicious tree were either dead, jailed, or trapped in the results of their own mistakes. For them, the tree had been the location for many teenage adventures, mistakes, and a sign of the true meaning of friendship.

They had been the infamous Marauders: James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. Dashing. Intelligent. Strong. Even invincible! Or so, they had thought, until the blasted day Tom Riddle decided to walk in, blasting spells, turning their lives upside down...at least, if you were able to survive.

And since that day, only one of the four returned to the crazy, unpredictable tree. The lone werewolf, Remus Lupin. Since his fifth year, November 23, the Day of Animagus, as he had labeled it, Remus never thought he'd have to face the little shack in the tree alone. His friends offered him solace, companionship, and protection from himself, his own personal danger.

But good things don't last forever. Sirius Black had betrayed him. Peter Pettigrew had off and disappeared. James Potter, though it was wrong to blame him, had died and left Remus alone in this world of hurt. They, they were all gone.

Sometimes, as Remus transformed, he imagined they were there with him, but it would soon dawn on him that they weren't. He was alone. They were not here to help him. And he sunk his own teeth into his own flesh, the wolf taking over his mind second by second. And no one was there to stop him. Nobody.

Then, suddenly and abruptly, he was no longer a wolf, but a naked, thin man who looked 40 at barely 22. Rays of sunlight shone upon his scarred form, lighting up the damage he'd caused. And there was no one there; no Sirius to make fun of him, no James to look upon him worryingly, and no Peter to stand there, timidly, but there. And when he realized what a terror he was, what a monster he was, Remus cried. He cried because he was a beast, and because there was no one to tell him otherwise, like there had once been. Remus Lupin was alone, whether animal or human.

What was the point of this life of his? Remus didn't even need one hand to count his blessings, but could fill a few with his obvious fortunes. He was friendless. He was homeless. He was jobless. And had he mentioned that was a bloodthirsty, evil creature of the worst kind?

Maybe he deserved to be alone.

The End.

Ending Note: I don't like this too much, and might rewrite it later. Please tell me if you liked, if I missed anything, and if anyone remembers any other reason Remus would have had a tough time at that point.
Cheers!
ScribblesOfALibra