Disclaimer: I do not own Remus Lupin, Prongs or Padfoot. I don't even own the Shrieking Shack. All of this is based on J.K Rowling's imagination.
Remus Lupin sat on the bed in the Shrieking Shack silently. There was no noise. No laughter. No yells. Not even the sound of others being quiet. Just him and his sorrow. And tears.
He hugged his knees, staring into space, tears flowing freely. He and his friends (no more) had made this room quite comfortable when they had been at Hogwarts. Prongs (never again) had brought an old table his mom had been planning on throwing out. Padfoot (nevermore) had stolen a few chairs from his mother. Wormtail (no longer) and brought a few chipped plates and cups.
But there was no one to fill the chairs. He was harshly reminded of the muggle play Les Miserables. He was Marius, sitting where his friends would no more.
Empty chairs at empty tables . . .
They would never laugh here again. Or talk. Or fight. Or grin.
Where my friends will meet no more . . .
Padfoot! Prongs! Wormtail! No longer would they be here. No longer would they be with him. No longer would they speak, no longer would they comfort him.
Oh my friends, my friends . . .
He was alone. Wormtail was alive, but he would never speak to him again. He was the cause. He was the reason he was alone!
Don't ask me . . .
They always did. But no more. No more did they need answers. No more would they ask questions.
What your sacrifice was for . . .
Sacrifice? What sacrifice? They were killed. Murdered! Wormtail deserved the same fate.
Empty chairs at empty tables . . .
Empty chairs. Padfoot took up enough space that even with a few extra chairs there wasn't any empty chairs. And the table was never empty either.
Where my friends will sing no more . . .
Sing? Padfoot and Prongs? Oh, they were horrible. A slight smile shone from underneath his tears.
Oh my friends, my friends forgive me . . .
Forgive me. I let Wormtail live. I let him escape. I let Prongs die. I let Padfoot die.
That I live and you are gone . . .
Why should he live? There was no one to live for, no one to talk with. Everyone to remember. Someone to forget. But no one to live.
He thought he saw someone wave from Padfoot's usual chairs.
Phantom faces at the window . . .
It had to be just his imagination. They were gone.
He saw a shadow and tried to find its caster. None was visible.
Phantom shadows on the floor . . .
He was seeing things now. He rubbed his eyes, but the vision was there. Prongs was waving from his seat on the table. He shook his head to clear it. But there was Padfoot, lying across several chairs grinned at him.
Remus jumped to his feet and backed up.
I can hear them now . . .
Hey Moony. That was Prongs' voice. There was no mistaking it. He backed into the wall.
I need you to do something for me.
Wh-What is it?
This couldn't be real. It couldn't be. Padfoot and Prongs died! They were gone! He was alone!
I need you to live.
Remus snorted.
Why? There's nothing to live for. Nothing!
I need you to watch Harry.
Why? Harry's fine! He has everyone watching him-
Exactly.
I can't! How can I live? How do you expect me to live without anyone there!
He felt a slight, cold touch on his shoulders.
Listen to me. Moony, we aren't the only ones. There are others!
No. There aren't.
Padfoot had gotten up.
Moony, listen. Padfoot's voice was clear and comforting. There are other people in the world. We're waiting for you. Do your job.
What job?
Just trust. We'll wait. But you have to stay.
Why should I?
You're needed. Promise.
No!
Damn it, promise Moony!
Moony hung his head.
Fine.
Thank you.
The voice was fading.
Wait!
Good-bye Moony.
The two were gone. He was alone again.
But he wouldn't leave, no matter how much he wanted to. He wouldn't join them yet. He had promised. He would stay here, with the living, and do his job. He would trust.
The lines are from a song called Empty ChairsAtEmpty Tables that is fromthe play Les Miserables. I'm not sure who wrote it, but all credit for that goes to him.