Disclaimer: JKR owns Harry Potter. I am not JKR.
A/N: I never thought I'd be able to write a graveyard scene longer than a drabble, so I set out to write one. This is one of my first fanfiction pieces, written around September '09. I'm sort of proud of it. I like the outcome.
It was cold, but he couldn't feel it. It was late, but he wasn't tired. It was meant to be a day of celebration, but he couldn't bring himself to it. It was just another year without them, another party without the life, another night without any excitement. The presents never brought any joy, the drinks didn't make him feel any better, the petty attempts to cheer him up failed.
It was Christmas.
Carollers and party-goers bustled around the street, talking and laughing and singing. All except for one. A lone man strolled down the pavement, in no rush. His head was bowed and his posture showed distress. No one bothered him, for which he was thankful for.
The middle-aged man pushed opened the gates to the graveyard, his shoes crunching on the freshly-laid snow. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his brown, winter jacket as he trudged forwards, blue eyes fixed to the white ground. A red and gold scarf was wrapped around his neck, pulled up to cover his mouth and nose. Behind it, he was biting his lip.
He walked through the gravestones, stopping somewhere in the middle. The man dropped to his knees in front of one of them and took his gloved hands out of his pockets. He lay them in his lap, intertwining his fingers. He looked at them solemnly for many minutes before lifting his eyes to the grave before him.
James Potter, born 27 March 1960, died 31 October 1981
Lily Potter, born 30 January 1960, died 31 October 1981
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
He pulled the scarf from around his mouth and nose, letting out a sigh and ignoring the icy air that escaped his chapped lips. Slowly, he turned to the gravestone beside that one, and it was clear how much newer it was compared to the Potters'. Despite there being no body, he had insisted that this person had a gravestone next to James and Lily.
Sirius Black, born 26 October 1959, died 17 June 1996
Running away is just another great adventure.
Once again, the man sighed, a mist escaping his mouth as he did so. Tears stung his eyes and he allowed them to fall, silently yet openly. He pulled out his wand and conjured up two red, ever-lasting roses and placed one at each grave.
Red meant so many things. Love, anger, blood, beauty. Roses also meant many things. Love, pain, mourning, suffering. Their petals were delicate and warming, but their thorns were dangerous, unnerving. The man pondered whom had decided to make roses so appealingly unappealing for a moment, the tears still gliding noiselessly down his flushed cheeks.
He buried his face in his hands as his body shook with strangled sobs. Silent sobs, but sobs all the same.
He sat there in the snow for hours, legs tucked beneath him, reminiscing the old days. Hogwarts … the Order … Aurors. They had been through everything together. When Lily and James had died, and Sirius was framed, and Peter disappeared, he had been left alone. Completely alone. He still had the rest of the Order, but the bond just wasn't there. All the laughs and pranks and late-night talks … none of them mattered any more, because the people whom were also a part of it were no longer there. He had no one to share memories with, or laugh at the past. He would never be able to say "Remember when..." again.
Friendship meant everything to him. He found comfort in knowing people liked him. He grew up being disliked by everyone around him, until these people came along and allowed him into their group. Friendship was just so important. That's why he allowed his friends to prank everyone in school. He disapproved, but never pushed the matter because he didn't want to lose them. And now, he had lost them. Every last one.
When Sirius broke out of Azkaban, the man felt a great weight lift of his heart. He always knew deep down that Sirius had been framed, and when said ex-prisoner found him and told him this, the man felt even better that his heart had been correct. And then two years later, he lost him again. Only this time, he couldn't come back.
Because it's impossible to revive the dead.
And now, one year and six months after that, the man was here again, grieving silently over the death of his friends. He had a fiancé now, but it wasn't the same. They hadn't grown up together. They hadn't even grown up in the same time era. There were no Remember when's between them.
The man didn't move when a snowflake drifted onto his eyelid. He didn't move when one fell on his nose, either. He didn't move when the snow gradually fell harder and harder, until it could possibly be considered a blizzard. He didn't move when a caroller came up to him and asked if he was alright. He only moved when the sound of the nearby church bells indicated midnight.
"Merry Christmas, my friends," he whispered as he rose from the ground. The front of his trousers were wet from sitting on the snow, but he didn't care. He wiped away his tears and exited the graveyard. As he stepped into the light of Godric's Hollow, he apparated back to his house.
The final Marauder stands alone. The final Marauder fights alone. The final Marauder breaths alone.
The final Marauder is Remus Lupin, and Remus Lupin is alone.
A/N: Well?
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