Prologue… (It's meant to be short!)
Main Character: Remus Lupin, with a view to including pretty much everyone else, ever!
Background: Set post-OotP, therefore spoiler-ridden. Lupin remembers all that has been lost.
Genre: Oh, angst, indubitably!
Rating: Unlikely to rise above PG13.
Feedback: Oh, go on then…
~*~
The tall gaunt figure moved through the silent house. Even the portraits were stilled as the heavy realisation hung over them. Weeks had passed, yet still the disbelief in the house was tangible. For the first hours, the house had been in uproar; Phineas Nigellus had passed from painting to painting calling Sirius' name. He had been involved in a nasty altercation with Sirius' mother and had since fled the house, to return to his portrait in Hogwarts, far from the distress in the noble and most ancient House of Black.
With a sigh, Remus Lupin threw himself into a chair in the kitchen. His eyes rested idly on the fireplace and he recalled that conversation with Harry about his parents and the glory days of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. Scarcely aware of what he was doing, he reached for a roll of parchment and a quill. He paused for a moment, scratching his chin with the end of his quill. With a sigh, he started writing.
To whom do I write? Perhaps it will become clear to me.
Where do I begin? Not at the beginning, I think, but at the end.
I alone remain.
Lupin stared blankly at the words before him before he summoned the diligence to continue.
That makes no sense. I was the weakest of the four, yet I am still here, in this place, this prison.
Prongs. He was the strongest, always, yet he was the first to go.
"No, that is not right." Lupin frowned, scratching out the previous words.
If anyone could be said to have been the first, surely it was Wormtail. We lost him a long time ago. Should we not have seen his folly? His fear? Strange that I cannot blame him. Maybe I sympathise with his weakness.
Then James, of course. He fought nobly, as we had come to expect from him. Once he had left childish ways behind, he became such a wizard! He was the strongest I think, or at least the most stable of us. Lily calmed him down and I have no doubt that he could have achieved great things had he but had the chance!
And Sirius. Padfoot.
Lupin stared into space again, biting down on his lower lip.
He was truly great but… Yes, there was always a 'but' with Sirius. He always took things rather lightly, he grew bored easily. Indeed, I often wonder that he did not attempt to break out of Azkaban sooner. Yet, Sirius was the one I identified with most. Maybe it was the canine leanings we both displayed. Maybe it was the discovery in recent years that he was my one remaining ally.
Oh, I know that I have received support from people like Dumbledore, but Sirius; well, Sirius was different. He was one of the first who knew of my werewolf-self and did not mind. Indeed, he enthusiastically greeted the full moon! He made me feel as though I was not a half-breed, as though my changing into a monster was as voluntary as his ability to transform into a dog. Snuffles, isn't that how Harry addressed him?
Of course, Sirius and James were the closest of us four. They influenced each other. They were streets ahead of the rest of us. Wizarding came easy to them both; it was all a great game to them.
Oh, I wish I know to whom I am writing. Is it you, Harry? Do you wonder what we are doing this summer while you remain cooped up in your aunt's house?
Maybe I write to Sirius. It hurts that I could not say goodbye to you. It hurts that I could not save you, if not for Harry's sake, then for mine. You were strong. After James and Lily died, you endured despite the falsehoods that flew around, you survived Azkaban! I could not have survived.
Or maybe and, I think, most likely, I simply write for myself. There are truths I need to hear and there is no one left to tell them to me, except myself. A lonely thought, isn't it? Yes, I write for myself…
"So that I don't forget," whispered Remus as he stretched, his foot colliding with the table leg, making the whole table rock precariously. He gazed down its length, recalling the last night spent here with the Weasleys and Harry and, of course, Sirius. "Oh, Sirius," he sighed.
On that last night, I should have spoken against you going to the station. But then, when did I ever oppose your wishes? Yes, I was often weak, when you and Prongs were scheming, I did nothing. Even when I did not approve which was, as you are well aware, a very rare occurrence, I never spoke out. That memory that Harry was talking about, Snape's memory; that was a fine example.
I was weary. The OWLS of course, as well as the approaching full moon. The upcoming Transfiguration test was a concern but surely I could have said something to stop them. Lily did, after all, and she was on the receiving end of some hideous abuse from Snape. Mudblood indeed! If there was anyone who could compete with Prongs or Padfoot in magic stakes, it was Lily Evans.
She was another who was strong. She held out for years before she started to go out with James. Sirius found it utterly hilarious that she was immune to the charming nature of James Potter.
I remember when they started going out. Lily wanted one of her friends to go out with me; some sort of double date, she called it. It was rather too difficult to explain why I could not accompany them on moonlit strolls by the lake but Sirius again gamely stepped in and took my place.
The girls were always so mad about him. There was an air about him, detached boredom, unaffected handsomeness, I don't know. Not that I didn't have my share of attention, but three-week relationships tended not to work by the time I reached sixth year.
"And relationships lasting beyond the first flickerings of recognition have been non-existent since it became public knowledge that I am a…"
Lupin stood up suddenly, sending his chair crashing to the ground. The noise seemed to reverberate through the house. He froze for an instant, his body taut as a wolfhound, before he shook his head and strode from the room. Bounding up the stairs, two at a time, he quickly sought out Sirius' bedroom.
"If I am to dredge up old memories, I'd far rather rely on someone else's too!" He began to shuffle through an old bureau which stood in the corner of the darkened room. At length, he found precisely what he was looking for: a bundle of letters and journals, bound with string. He recalled taking these from Sirius' house, shortly after the death of Lily and James. It had been a foolish thing to do; to enter the house of a soon-to-be-convicted murderer in order to retrieve a few tattered memories. Nevertheless, Remus was glad that he had recovered these few scraps before the Ministry had descended on the house; tearing it apart in their quest to uncover any linkage to Lord Voldemort.
He brought the bundle downstairs, sneezing at the dust which rose in great plumes. "He was not sentimental," muttered Lupin. "But, if that was truly the case, I wonder why he kept these things at all?"
"Half-breed! Get out of my house! Get out…"
Lupin whirled around to look upon the portrait of Sirius' mother, curtains torn back.
"Mrs Black. I thought you had been quiet these past days," he said pleasantly as he closed the curtains with ease, ignoring the muffles cried within. He re-entered the kitchen and pointed his wand at the fireplace. "Incendio!" he muttered and a blaze sprang to life. Looking around the empty kitchen thoughtfully, he waved his wand again to produce a stack of sandwiches and a large pot of tea. As he began to wolf down the food, realising with a twinge of guilt that he really had not been eating properly in recent days, Lupin began to pour over the letters in front of him.
~*~
TBC – it's your call…
Yeah, it's time for me to be evil… I'll update when and if there's a demand for it…
