Remus J. Lupin sat on the wooden steps of his little cottage on the edge of
the woods. His breath was steady and cool and he inhaled the crisp, frosty
air welcomingly. A light, chilly breeze drifted from out of the forest,
sending a pile of dried up leaves scuttling across his front walk. His eyes
flicked momentarily to one of the larger, crumpled leaves as it made a
jarring, scratchy sound on the rocks as it floated by. He exhaled and
turned to look up at the sunset once again.
The blood red ball of fire was already partially obscured by the horizon line. The sun was bleeding again, he noticed. It always bled before the full moon. Brilliant tendrils of red hues shot out across the sky, melting into fainter oranges and marigolds like the strokes of a paintbrush done in watercolor. The watery, red edges kept spreading out like a forest fire, consuming everything in its flaming path.
Everything except the dark, of course. The darkness was the worst. It came from above, from somewhere no one could conceive of, and it truly conquered all. Every night it pressed down from up in the sky, pressing lower and lower until it suffocated the waning sun. He hated to watch the beautiful fiery orb disappear into the earth like it had never existed, only to be replaced by the silvery moon. But the moon was the higher power at night, and the sun's radiant rays were no match for it's cool mistiness. The moon always won. It always conquered. It was always there. All the time.
Remus feared it more than anything in the world.
Suddenly, he began coughing and sputtering for air, as if the dark was squeezing a shadowy hand around his neck and suffocating him, too. When he could breathe again, he realized that he had been holding his breath, hoping in vain that perhaps the sun would win today. That it would free him from the powerful clutches of the moon. But it never did.
Remus stood up abruptly, the wooden step creaking as it shifted with his absence of weight. There was much to do, and he only had an hour or so until he transformed. He did not feel like watching the sun die today.
He went inside and walked into his small, clean kitchen to prepare breakfast for tomorrow morning. When he had first started living in seclusion, he had found it silly to be cooking breakfast when he should've been making dinner, but he found it most practical since he was always to weak to do anything the morning after. Lily had always apparated in and made breakfast for him after full moons when she... Remus began to choke up as he remembered. Oh God. Lily. He pushed the thought out of his mind quickly and watched the fat from the bacon sizzle and pop in the pan. The tantalizing scent wafted up to his nose, but he resisted the urge to eat anything. He would only end up vomiting it all later during the transformation anyway.
In a few minutes, he flipped the bacon, eggs, and toast onto a clean, white plate and cast a twenty four hour warming charm on it. He carefully folded a napkin in half, making the crease nice and crisp, and placed it next to the plate. He placed a fork and knife on top of the napkin, and then put a cup of water nearby.
He frowned and then looked out the window. The sun was gone; it was dark now. And there was the moon, grinning evilly at him with its round, milky face. He sharply inhaled and his pulse quickened; he could feel himself begin to shut down. No, not yet, Remus, he told himself and forced his breath to flow evenly.
Slowly, he stepped outside, taking care not to look up at the velvet sky above him. He made his way across the brown, crunchy leaves to the little shack behind his house. The air was so fresh, so cold, and he could see the soft moonlight on the grass below him. He shivered slightly as he opened the door of the shack and slid inside.
There, it was dark and musty, smelling faintly of old, rotting flesh. The smell was always there; it never went away. The tiny slits of light that ran across the ceiling cast eerie shadows inside the little shack and pale white stripes across his arms. The floor was dirty and there was dark, dried blood crusted here and there. His pulse began to quicken again, and there was nothing he could do to stop it this time. He quickly bolted the door shut and enforced the walls of the shack with magic. He cast a silencing charm so that no one would hear the screams and the howls from within this hellhole. Then he quickly hid his wand in the little nook behind the rock so that he would not break it later.
He slid his back down the wall and crouched low in a corner, his knees pulled up all the way to his chin, arms wrapped around his legs. He tried to breath evenly, in and out, but his chest shook uncontrollably with jagged spasms. His human mind began to shut down, like it always did when the mind of the wolf took over. He could feel himself slipping away. His emotions broke down and came tumbling out chaotically because the wolf could not handle them.
He wanted Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. It always came down to this. Every time he transformed. It was half the reason he feared it so much. Every time he sat in this godforsaken little shack, he remembered them. He remembered that he was the only one left. He remembered what his first transformation without them in seven years was like. Hell. He began to cry. Prongs. Gone. Wormtail. Gone. Padfoot... Oh Padfoot.
He wanted them so badly. They had always helped to calm his nerves when the time came. They were always there for him. Padfoot had always come to sit close by him, allowing him to run his hands though the dog's thick fur. He subconsciously lifted up an arm and touched the empty air. He was all alone now.
Remus trembled. Oh Padfoot how could you? Suddenly, his back went rigid and sparks shot up his spine, making his head throb. His limbs straightened out and his hands clawed at the floor. He yelped in pain. Padfoot. Padfoot, how could you betray them? He began to sob and scream hysterically, alternating between both as his bones realigned themselves in his body. He was choking now, the air would not go down into his lungs. How could you kill them, Padfoot? Lily and James. Peter. His mind was slipping away.... slipping away quickly. His pulse pounded in his ears and he snarled as hair sprouted out of his body. Padfoot, where are you? Remus sniffed frantically for the scent of the dog. He could not find it anywhere. His body was on fire and he writhed about on the ground screaming. He sniffed again. There was warm, fresh blood on the floor; he could smell it, and he wanted it. He began to scrape at the blood, the flesh, and he cried out in pain. He wanted the scent of the dog. Where was Padfoot? He began to howl.
.~*~.
[Four weeks later]
Remus J. Lupin sat at his kitchen table and ate his breakfast while the faint morning sunlight filtered in through the window. He methodically chewed his piece of buttered toast, grinding the grainy bread with his teeth as he stared at the clock. 8:47. He took a sip of his hot tea and grimaced. He had forgotten to add sugar again. He stood up and walked over to the counter to find the sugar bowl. He lifted the little silver teaspoon in the air and was about to dump it into his tea mug when a loud tapping sound at his window made him spill the sugar all over the counter.
On instinct, he quickly whipped his wand out and spun around with his arm forward. The owl at the window hooted anxiously and began to look frightened. Remus exhaled in relief. Just a bloody owl, he thought. Just a bloody owl. He couldn't help being so jumpy; it was something that came with being alone like he was.
He opened the window and the owl flew inside, landing gracefully on his kitchen table. He furrowed his eyebrows at the tawny bird in front of him; it looked so much like a Hogwarts owl. But that wasn't possible. Remus never got mail anyway.
The owl lifted shook its leg vigorously and attempted to show Remus the little scroll attached to it. His arm reached forward, but his eyes widened in utter surprise when he saw the sickeningly familiar Hogwarts seal on the parchment. A letter from Hogwarts.
He was afraid to touch it now. His arm remained frozen in the air in front of him, fingers outstretched. It couldn't be. He hadn't gotten one in so long. Not since...it happened. He had told Dumbledore he wanted to live completely alone. No correspondence. No outside world.
The owl hooted impatiently and then decided to finish the rest of the toast on the table. Remus shook his head clear and then reached for the scroll slowly, taking it off the owl. The parchment was soft and faded, just the way he remembered Hogwarts paper to be. He took a deep breath and then broke the wax seal, splitting it straight down between the Gryffindor lion and the Slytherin serpent.
His eyes flicked down to the signature at the bottom of the letter and his throat caught at the sight of it. My God. Albus Dumbledore. He began to read anxiously, hoping for something, anything, he did not even know what. But his heart dropped to the floor in disappointment after a few seconds.
The letter said nothing. Nothing of importance. It merely asked Remus to meet Dumbledore outside The Three Broomsticks at eleven o'clock. He frowned; that was in two hours.
Remus considered not going. He wanted to annoy the old man, as the old man had annoyed him. Angered him, actually. After so many years of silence, not even so much as a "How are you?" No. Just a frustratingly short note commanding him to come. Who did he think he was? Merlin?
He's pretty darn close, thought Remus dully.
The owl on the table began to hoot loudly again, shaking its leg at Remus. He rolled his eyes. Typical Hogwarts owl; no respect. He quickly found a small scrap of parchment and wrote back a short one-lined reply before attaching it to the owl. His curiosity had gotten the better of him this time. The bird snapped up the last bit of toast and then flapped its way out the window, sending a spray of bread crumbs and little downy feathers all over Remus and his table.
.~*~.
It was more crowded than he remembered it to be. There were people everywhere, milling in and out of shops and simply chatting in the streets. He wasn't used to all the bodies. Wasn't used to getting jostled around even when he was standing still. He felt awkward and out of place. This world wasn't meant for him anymore. It never was. He was the werewolf. They were the people. He was alone.
Remus quickly entered the Three Broomsticks and stood at the entrance, blinking with uncertainty. He felt a stab of annoyance when he couldn't see the old man anywhere. Perhaps it was some sort of joke. Some silly stupid joke. He wanted to leave and go back to his cottage on the edge of the woods and live alone again.
"Ah, Remus. I am very glad you came," a low voice said from behind him, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end with the familiarity of the voice. He turned around.
Professor Albus Dumbledore stood before him, long graying beard and all, his periwinkle eyes twinkling behind the same old half moon spectacles he wore when Remus attended Hogwarts. He was smiling slightly, and his eyes no longer looked pained the way Remus remembered them to be that Halloween night so many years ago. He was here.
"Professor Dumbledore..." Remus exhaled slowly, hesitantly. He wasn't sure of what to say. Sorry that I've been living in seclusion for six years? Sorry that I never kept any type of correspondence? Sorry that I cursed you into oblivion before I left?
"Nonsense, Remus. You may call me Albus."
Remus almost collapsed with relief.
.~*~.
They had gone up to the Headmaster's office where they would have more privacy he was told. Remus had followed the bearded man like a lost puppy, putting his full trust in him. He was almost afraid not to. It was inexplicable how easily anyone could succomb to Albus Dumbledore. Remus was no different.
Sitting in his dark-blue, cushioned chair, Remus watched the steam spiral out of the silver goblet of dark liquid that sat on Dumbledore's desk. His mind still spun with stark curiosity about why he was here in the first place, but he kept his mouth sealed and continued swimming in his sea of thoughts.
"Remus." His voice was soft and steady, and Remus could hear the old man take a breath before he spoke again. His own breath got caught in his throat with anticipation. The answers. The answers were coming.
"I would love to say 'how are you?' or 'how have you been?' but there is time for that later." The man paused and watched Remus gaze at the swirling steam for a couple seconds. "There is something much more important I have to tell you."
Remus stole a quick look at the Headmaster and made eye contact with quiet, blue eyes. Quiet, blue, unreadable eyes. His heart began to beat harder and he wasn't sure why. Why. Why. Why. The question had accompanied every his heartbeat for the past nine years.
"There is... a sort of cure, Remus. Not for being a werewolf. But for the pain."
Remus blinked at him, not registering what the man had just said at all.
"It is called the Wolfsbane Potion. It has been tested on others and it works, Remus. It is Ministry-approved." Dumbledore's voice was so grave, so low. He had never heard it like this before. There was no twinkle in his eyes anymore, no hint of a smile.. Remus struggled to breath and comprehend what was said. He could feel himself slipping away now. He wasn't hearing these words. It was a dream. A nightmare. Taunting him.
"But for the pain."
His heart began to drop lower and lower and Dumbledore began to fade from his view in a pool of gray.
"It's been tested on others and it works..."
Slowly it began to sink in... No more pain. No more blood. No more long nights in the shack. No more remembering them. No more remembering that he was all alone. He was free.
"It's sitting here in front of you." Dumbeldore lifted his arm towards the goblet. Remus sucked in his breath. In this goblet was the answer to his prayers?
"The Wolfsbane Potion."
"T-this?" Remus croaked finally, almost choking on the words. He reached up slowly and touched the cup; it was welcomingly warm.
"Yes..."
Remus was vaguely aware of Dumbledore giving him more directions on how to use the potion, but he did not hear the old man; he did not even want to listen. He only stared at the goblet and the steam as the warmth radiated down his arm and to his body. He began shaking now, shaking weakly, which sent tiny ripples out from the middle of the liquid in the goblet.
"For the pain."
Slowly, a small, silent tear trickled out of the corner of his eye. Albus Dumbledore saw it clearly, and his voice trailed off as Remus began to cry in his office. He remained quiet, letting this man break down in front of him. He understood like no other could.
Remus cried harder than he had that Halloween night so many years ago. Salty tears poured down his face in torrents; he spilled his heart, his fears, his pain out in front of his old headmaster. The emotions bubbling out were far too hard for him to handle. But the realization began to hit home now and he could barely comprehend; he could only weep.
He would never have to yearn for them again. Never have to suffer through the nightmares, the memories. Never have to experience hell again.
His soul could rest.
No more Wormtail, Prongs, or Padfoot. They were gone. Truly gone.
And maybe, he decided somewhere far in the depths of his mind, just maybe he'd be able to face the moon now. Remus J. Lupin could not wait to watch the sun bleed again.
The blood red ball of fire was already partially obscured by the horizon line. The sun was bleeding again, he noticed. It always bled before the full moon. Brilliant tendrils of red hues shot out across the sky, melting into fainter oranges and marigolds like the strokes of a paintbrush done in watercolor. The watery, red edges kept spreading out like a forest fire, consuming everything in its flaming path.
Everything except the dark, of course. The darkness was the worst. It came from above, from somewhere no one could conceive of, and it truly conquered all. Every night it pressed down from up in the sky, pressing lower and lower until it suffocated the waning sun. He hated to watch the beautiful fiery orb disappear into the earth like it had never existed, only to be replaced by the silvery moon. But the moon was the higher power at night, and the sun's radiant rays were no match for it's cool mistiness. The moon always won. It always conquered. It was always there. All the time.
Remus feared it more than anything in the world.
Suddenly, he began coughing and sputtering for air, as if the dark was squeezing a shadowy hand around his neck and suffocating him, too. When he could breathe again, he realized that he had been holding his breath, hoping in vain that perhaps the sun would win today. That it would free him from the powerful clutches of the moon. But it never did.
Remus stood up abruptly, the wooden step creaking as it shifted with his absence of weight. There was much to do, and he only had an hour or so until he transformed. He did not feel like watching the sun die today.
He went inside and walked into his small, clean kitchen to prepare breakfast for tomorrow morning. When he had first started living in seclusion, he had found it silly to be cooking breakfast when he should've been making dinner, but he found it most practical since he was always to weak to do anything the morning after. Lily had always apparated in and made breakfast for him after full moons when she... Remus began to choke up as he remembered. Oh God. Lily. He pushed the thought out of his mind quickly and watched the fat from the bacon sizzle and pop in the pan. The tantalizing scent wafted up to his nose, but he resisted the urge to eat anything. He would only end up vomiting it all later during the transformation anyway.
In a few minutes, he flipped the bacon, eggs, and toast onto a clean, white plate and cast a twenty four hour warming charm on it. He carefully folded a napkin in half, making the crease nice and crisp, and placed it next to the plate. He placed a fork and knife on top of the napkin, and then put a cup of water nearby.
He frowned and then looked out the window. The sun was gone; it was dark now. And there was the moon, grinning evilly at him with its round, milky face. He sharply inhaled and his pulse quickened; he could feel himself begin to shut down. No, not yet, Remus, he told himself and forced his breath to flow evenly.
Slowly, he stepped outside, taking care not to look up at the velvet sky above him. He made his way across the brown, crunchy leaves to the little shack behind his house. The air was so fresh, so cold, and he could see the soft moonlight on the grass below him. He shivered slightly as he opened the door of the shack and slid inside.
There, it was dark and musty, smelling faintly of old, rotting flesh. The smell was always there; it never went away. The tiny slits of light that ran across the ceiling cast eerie shadows inside the little shack and pale white stripes across his arms. The floor was dirty and there was dark, dried blood crusted here and there. His pulse began to quicken again, and there was nothing he could do to stop it this time. He quickly bolted the door shut and enforced the walls of the shack with magic. He cast a silencing charm so that no one would hear the screams and the howls from within this hellhole. Then he quickly hid his wand in the little nook behind the rock so that he would not break it later.
He slid his back down the wall and crouched low in a corner, his knees pulled up all the way to his chin, arms wrapped around his legs. He tried to breath evenly, in and out, but his chest shook uncontrollably with jagged spasms. His human mind began to shut down, like it always did when the mind of the wolf took over. He could feel himself slipping away. His emotions broke down and came tumbling out chaotically because the wolf could not handle them.
He wanted Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. It always came down to this. Every time he transformed. It was half the reason he feared it so much. Every time he sat in this godforsaken little shack, he remembered them. He remembered that he was the only one left. He remembered what his first transformation without them in seven years was like. Hell. He began to cry. Prongs. Gone. Wormtail. Gone. Padfoot... Oh Padfoot.
He wanted them so badly. They had always helped to calm his nerves when the time came. They were always there for him. Padfoot had always come to sit close by him, allowing him to run his hands though the dog's thick fur. He subconsciously lifted up an arm and touched the empty air. He was all alone now.
Remus trembled. Oh Padfoot how could you? Suddenly, his back went rigid and sparks shot up his spine, making his head throb. His limbs straightened out and his hands clawed at the floor. He yelped in pain. Padfoot. Padfoot, how could you betray them? He began to sob and scream hysterically, alternating between both as his bones realigned themselves in his body. He was choking now, the air would not go down into his lungs. How could you kill them, Padfoot? Lily and James. Peter. His mind was slipping away.... slipping away quickly. His pulse pounded in his ears and he snarled as hair sprouted out of his body. Padfoot, where are you? Remus sniffed frantically for the scent of the dog. He could not find it anywhere. His body was on fire and he writhed about on the ground screaming. He sniffed again. There was warm, fresh blood on the floor; he could smell it, and he wanted it. He began to scrape at the blood, the flesh, and he cried out in pain. He wanted the scent of the dog. Where was Padfoot? He began to howl.
.~*~.
[Four weeks later]
Remus J. Lupin sat at his kitchen table and ate his breakfast while the faint morning sunlight filtered in through the window. He methodically chewed his piece of buttered toast, grinding the grainy bread with his teeth as he stared at the clock. 8:47. He took a sip of his hot tea and grimaced. He had forgotten to add sugar again. He stood up and walked over to the counter to find the sugar bowl. He lifted the little silver teaspoon in the air and was about to dump it into his tea mug when a loud tapping sound at his window made him spill the sugar all over the counter.
On instinct, he quickly whipped his wand out and spun around with his arm forward. The owl at the window hooted anxiously and began to look frightened. Remus exhaled in relief. Just a bloody owl, he thought. Just a bloody owl. He couldn't help being so jumpy; it was something that came with being alone like he was.
He opened the window and the owl flew inside, landing gracefully on his kitchen table. He furrowed his eyebrows at the tawny bird in front of him; it looked so much like a Hogwarts owl. But that wasn't possible. Remus never got mail anyway.
The owl lifted shook its leg vigorously and attempted to show Remus the little scroll attached to it. His arm reached forward, but his eyes widened in utter surprise when he saw the sickeningly familiar Hogwarts seal on the parchment. A letter from Hogwarts.
He was afraid to touch it now. His arm remained frozen in the air in front of him, fingers outstretched. It couldn't be. He hadn't gotten one in so long. Not since...it happened. He had told Dumbledore he wanted to live completely alone. No correspondence. No outside world.
The owl hooted impatiently and then decided to finish the rest of the toast on the table. Remus shook his head clear and then reached for the scroll slowly, taking it off the owl. The parchment was soft and faded, just the way he remembered Hogwarts paper to be. He took a deep breath and then broke the wax seal, splitting it straight down between the Gryffindor lion and the Slytherin serpent.
His eyes flicked down to the signature at the bottom of the letter and his throat caught at the sight of it. My God. Albus Dumbledore. He began to read anxiously, hoping for something, anything, he did not even know what. But his heart dropped to the floor in disappointment after a few seconds.
The letter said nothing. Nothing of importance. It merely asked Remus to meet Dumbledore outside The Three Broomsticks at eleven o'clock. He frowned; that was in two hours.
Remus considered not going. He wanted to annoy the old man, as the old man had annoyed him. Angered him, actually. After so many years of silence, not even so much as a "How are you?" No. Just a frustratingly short note commanding him to come. Who did he think he was? Merlin?
He's pretty darn close, thought Remus dully.
The owl on the table began to hoot loudly again, shaking its leg at Remus. He rolled his eyes. Typical Hogwarts owl; no respect. He quickly found a small scrap of parchment and wrote back a short one-lined reply before attaching it to the owl. His curiosity had gotten the better of him this time. The bird snapped up the last bit of toast and then flapped its way out the window, sending a spray of bread crumbs and little downy feathers all over Remus and his table.
.~*~.
It was more crowded than he remembered it to be. There were people everywhere, milling in and out of shops and simply chatting in the streets. He wasn't used to all the bodies. Wasn't used to getting jostled around even when he was standing still. He felt awkward and out of place. This world wasn't meant for him anymore. It never was. He was the werewolf. They were the people. He was alone.
Remus quickly entered the Three Broomsticks and stood at the entrance, blinking with uncertainty. He felt a stab of annoyance when he couldn't see the old man anywhere. Perhaps it was some sort of joke. Some silly stupid joke. He wanted to leave and go back to his cottage on the edge of the woods and live alone again.
"Ah, Remus. I am very glad you came," a low voice said from behind him, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end with the familiarity of the voice. He turned around.
Professor Albus Dumbledore stood before him, long graying beard and all, his periwinkle eyes twinkling behind the same old half moon spectacles he wore when Remus attended Hogwarts. He was smiling slightly, and his eyes no longer looked pained the way Remus remembered them to be that Halloween night so many years ago. He was here.
"Professor Dumbledore..." Remus exhaled slowly, hesitantly. He wasn't sure of what to say. Sorry that I've been living in seclusion for six years? Sorry that I never kept any type of correspondence? Sorry that I cursed you into oblivion before I left?
"Nonsense, Remus. You may call me Albus."
Remus almost collapsed with relief.
.~*~.
They had gone up to the Headmaster's office where they would have more privacy he was told. Remus had followed the bearded man like a lost puppy, putting his full trust in him. He was almost afraid not to. It was inexplicable how easily anyone could succomb to Albus Dumbledore. Remus was no different.
Sitting in his dark-blue, cushioned chair, Remus watched the steam spiral out of the silver goblet of dark liquid that sat on Dumbledore's desk. His mind still spun with stark curiosity about why he was here in the first place, but he kept his mouth sealed and continued swimming in his sea of thoughts.
"Remus." His voice was soft and steady, and Remus could hear the old man take a breath before he spoke again. His own breath got caught in his throat with anticipation. The answers. The answers were coming.
"I would love to say 'how are you?' or 'how have you been?' but there is time for that later." The man paused and watched Remus gaze at the swirling steam for a couple seconds. "There is something much more important I have to tell you."
Remus stole a quick look at the Headmaster and made eye contact with quiet, blue eyes. Quiet, blue, unreadable eyes. His heart began to beat harder and he wasn't sure why. Why. Why. Why. The question had accompanied every his heartbeat for the past nine years.
"There is... a sort of cure, Remus. Not for being a werewolf. But for the pain."
Remus blinked at him, not registering what the man had just said at all.
"It is called the Wolfsbane Potion. It has been tested on others and it works, Remus. It is Ministry-approved." Dumbledore's voice was so grave, so low. He had never heard it like this before. There was no twinkle in his eyes anymore, no hint of a smile.. Remus struggled to breath and comprehend what was said. He could feel himself slipping away now. He wasn't hearing these words. It was a dream. A nightmare. Taunting him.
"But for the pain."
His heart began to drop lower and lower and Dumbledore began to fade from his view in a pool of gray.
"It's been tested on others and it works..."
Slowly it began to sink in... No more pain. No more blood. No more long nights in the shack. No more remembering them. No more remembering that he was all alone. He was free.
"It's sitting here in front of you." Dumbeldore lifted his arm towards the goblet. Remus sucked in his breath. In this goblet was the answer to his prayers?
"The Wolfsbane Potion."
"T-this?" Remus croaked finally, almost choking on the words. He reached up slowly and touched the cup; it was welcomingly warm.
"Yes..."
Remus was vaguely aware of Dumbledore giving him more directions on how to use the potion, but he did not hear the old man; he did not even want to listen. He only stared at the goblet and the steam as the warmth radiated down his arm and to his body. He began shaking now, shaking weakly, which sent tiny ripples out from the middle of the liquid in the goblet.
"For the pain."
Slowly, a small, silent tear trickled out of the corner of his eye. Albus Dumbledore saw it clearly, and his voice trailed off as Remus began to cry in his office. He remained quiet, letting this man break down in front of him. He understood like no other could.
Remus cried harder than he had that Halloween night so many years ago. Salty tears poured down his face in torrents; he spilled his heart, his fears, his pain out in front of his old headmaster. The emotions bubbling out were far too hard for him to handle. But the realization began to hit home now and he could barely comprehend; he could only weep.
He would never have to yearn for them again. Never have to suffer through the nightmares, the memories. Never have to experience hell again.
His soul could rest.
No more Wormtail, Prongs, or Padfoot. They were gone. Truly gone.
And maybe, he decided somewhere far in the depths of his mind, just maybe he'd be able to face the moon now. Remus J. Lupin could not wait to watch the sun bleed again.