Title: Reflections
Summary: Everyone reflects their whole life in the last second, and this one man is no exception.
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters mentioned in this fan fiction or the storyline. I do not make any money out of this. I also do not own Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti.
Author's Note: For Reviewers: At the end of this fan fiction, there is a set of questions. As I am not very good at English, I would love for you to correct any mistakes. Thank you.
He jumps, scared. There is a great wolf in his dark bedroom. The eyes are green and made of pure hatred. He trying to make the run for it. Too late. He is only five, after all.
He can taste his own blood. He screams. Then he stops.
He sits alone all the time – no playmates, no one he can call a friend – and all he wishes for is a glimmer of hope. An especially smart boy for his age, he knows not to be too close with anybody except his parents.
We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits –
A glimmer of hope is all he wants: is that too much for a nine year old boy to ask? He cannot think of his future being filled with joy.
He cries in his bedroom. It is his eleventh birthday. He gets no owls, let alone any signed Hogwarts. His mother has prepared a cake for him, but he doesn't want to eat. All he wants is his Hogwarts letter.
It is night. He has gotten over the fact that he will never get his letter. He can here the doorbell ring. He can see his father peeping out of the window, looking scared.
The doorbell rings again. He can hear his father greet someone named "Professor Dumbledore".
The name is familiar to him. Too familiar. He can hear his father's voice saying it. This memory is from a long time ago; the way his father said it is different to how he speaks now. His voice was softer then. Now it hard and empty.
And then it hits the eleven-year-old. Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
But why he is here, the boy doesn't know.
And soon it transpires that he would have playmates. It is his glimmer of hope.
He laughs. He has friends. He is third in class. He lives in the moment. He doesn't care for the future.
Even in his blissful life there is a moment. He doesn't know what kind of moment it is. He feels a rush of emotions. He feels himself sink into a canyon.
They know.
Sirius doesn't talk to him now. James cares for Sirius. Peter – kind Peter chats with him occasionally. He feels it is his fault that all of this happens.
They are back together now. Forget the bygones of yesterday, they say, and focus on the mischief of today. They are happy.
He feels betrayed. His best friend has used him to – to do the unmentionable. His best friend has used him for payback. The sixteen-year-old cries only very rarely in these times of joy, but this is one of those days.
They reconcile. They fight for survival. They are at war.
Only he survives. Sirius is in Azkaban for murder, James is dead, and Peter – poor, poor Peter – is dead; Sirius was certainly quick.
He hasn't cried this much since that day in his seventeenth year.
He looks for odd jobs all over the place – bookshops, supermarkets – but earns money only enough for his survival. He can't even buy a chocolate for his friend's son if he ever passes by.
– Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?
To his surprise, he teaches Harry and his year at Hogwarts. He meets Sirius and Peter again. He learns the truth – he misjudged his friends! Poor Sirius.
But nothing lasts forever. The fact that he is werewolf is out.
He is blinded by grief. He has lost Sirius. He truly is the last Marauder again.
He's gone, he's gone, he's gone…
HOW? How could Sirius have died?
He's gone, he's gone, he's gone…
His alcohol-induced sleep isn't a great remedy for his madness.
He is married. Married to Tonks. It might have not been the grandest wedding, but at least this was something. All he has to do now is to survive the war.
He is fuming. Harry – Harry! – blames him for leaving Tonks for her safety.
How can Harry ever know how it feels? How it feels to find out that you are monster like those in storybooks; how it feels to know that you can never make anyone happy; how it feels to know that you are dangerous to everyone know; how it feels to know that you can never offer your own mother comfort…
HARRY DOESN'T KNOW! He could never know how it feels when you think that your own child hates you, or worse still, you are the reason why your child is an abomination…
Though he is a grown up man in his late thirties, he cannot control his rage.
His son is born. How delightful it is to know that your son doesn't have to face all the lycanthropy, he thinks, how wonderful it is to know that your son is not a werewolf.
He holds little Edward in his arms, and he can feel his heart swelling to accommodate the more and more love he finds for him. He kisses little Ted on the forehead and little tears of joy escape.
He's lovely, he tells Nymphadora, he's wonderful.
We will be the best parents, she adds.
He must tell Harry, Ron and Hermione. They must know.
He can feel all these memories coming back to him. It is his last second and he knows it. He reflects upon the days he couldn't stop crying, and those he couldn't stop laughing. He can see his reflection on a broken piece of glass on the floor and he knows he has come far. He is no longer the sad boy that sat alone every day. He is Remus Lupin. Son, friend, husband, father.
I am sorry Ted, Dora, Harry, I can't do it any more. I will always love you, and know that.
He reflect upon his time, and sees a flash of green light. He is Remus Lupin, and his body falls to floor.
He is Remus Lupin, and he is brave. He moves on.
1 - I included 'Goblin Market' to express the thoughts of the Wizarding society on werewolves. Does it actually do that?
2 - Are there any grammatical errors? I would be grateful if you specify what they are.
3 - It is my first time writing in present tense. Are there any things I need to be careful of while writing?
4 - Any other things you would like to point out?
Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story. *Hands out virtual cookies*