The lone stranger

Late morning. Mid October 1989. Somewhere on the outskirts of London, a man woke up. He ran a hand through his greying hair and tried desperately hard to remember why he felt so miserable. Once glance at the wall, where a magical calendar hung, told him why. 'Happy thirtieth mister!' the words on the calendar read. He looked into the mirror and smiled to himself, he looked like he was forty. And even worse, he felt like he was past a hundred years old, something that he had said he would never let happen, as part of a drunken, youthful promise.

The flat he lived in was not the most well maintained but it was neat and organised; something which was aided by the fact that he didn't have much money for possessions anyway. In theory, he liked where he lived – it was a decent place for someone his type (bookish, not fabulously rich, introvert) but there was another side of him which simply couldn't stand the place. Now looking at the words on the calendar, this side of him, which had come forth in his school years during various night time wanderings and prank plannings, came roaring out to surface. He felt a mixture of anger, pain and indignation that he thought he already had suppressed. But that feeling was back. He needed to get out of here and go... go where? But he knew what he wanted to see so he put on a robe randomly, and apparated to what he hoped was the right address.

The strange man appeared out of thin air at the centre of Little Whinging. He glanced around trying to see if anyone had noticed him. But the people in the neighbourhood seemed to be too busy keeping to themselves or had gone out as the weather was surprisingly bright and warm for this time of the year. Still, not wanting to be spotted, he cast a quick Disillusionment charm over himself and tried to remember where he needed to go. 50 yards from him, he saw a sign that said 'Privet Drive' and he recalled that it was a street starting with a 'P' and therefore this must be it. He took a deep breath and walked confidently over to Privet Drive convincing himself that he needed to do this.

Here, however, the man drew a blank. Having never considered the possibility that he might, at some point in the future, need to visit the place, he hadn't paid much attention to the address when Lily had announced it. He stopped and stared at the lamppost in front of him with great intensity, as though hoping it would jump up and point somewhere saying "HERE'S HARRY POTTER!" screwing his eyes shut, he tried to recap that day in Godric's Hollow...

FLASHBACK

'Uurgh!' came a sound from behind him. Remus Lupin turned around to see Lily Ev-sorry-Potter standing reading a letter muttering angrily and with an expression so like the one she used to wear whenever she got into a fight with James or Sirius at school that he half expected her cry of 'POTTER!' to pierce the room.

'What happened Lily?' Remus asked.

Lily looked up at him, surprised, and her green eyes swept the room as if re-establishing where she was. James was in the kitchen having gallantly volunteered to clear the table. Peter was helping him. Sirius was on the floor. His surprise Filibuster Firework during dinner had blown the leg off Peter's chair. He was trying to fix it by transfiguring it into grow a new leg, but wasn't achieving the right results.

She looked at Remus again. 'A letter from my mother' she sighed. 'A letter about darling Petunia's husband getting a promotion at Grunnings. What a stupid name for a company! As if Tuney needed an excuse to be more snobby and up her arse. It will do wonders for her attitude, I'm sure. I don't know why mother thinks that telling me about her new house at #%^? Privet Drive, Little Whinging and her NORMAL life with that Dursley whale guy will make us best friends again! She HATES me-gaaarrghhh! SIRIUS BLACK!'

Lily's rant had startled Sirius into accidentally setting the chair on fire. Peter and James came running in, looking for the source of all the commotion. Pete lifted his wand and squeaked 'Aguamenti!' but aimed it rather horribly, sending a jet of water straight at Sirius who turned around and growled (so much like Padfoot...

So much like Padfoot... 'Bad idea!' the man scolded himself but it was too late. Too late as a wave of memories washed over him. The boys... telling him they knew... the hours spent in the library... the first transformation... leaving Hogwarts... the wedding and little Harry... Dumbledore at Headquarters giving him the news... visiting Peter's mother... no Order, no Marauders... all those hours spent drinking himself past depression...

'Grrrrrr!' The sound startled the stanger. He peered around at the spot from where the sound had come. He walked closer cautiously, forgetting that the Disillusionment charm made sure he was close to invisible.

The sight that met him shocked him so much that his mouth dropped open in surprise, closed and then opened again. His hands started shaking badly and he had to clench his fists rather hurtfully tight to stop the shaking. He thought invariably of his friends who always used to tease him so much for never showing his true feelings on his face and what they would think of him now and felt a mad urge to laugh out loud at the irony of his thought process.

It was a lawnmower that had made the sound, yellow with a long black handle to steer it. It wasn't the lawnmower though, but the hands and the subsequent body and face attached to it that had shaken the man. 'Prongs', the man whispered softly. He felt another flashback coming at him. This one was the very reason why he was here.

FLASHBACK

'Wormtail you PRAT! That was the last beeeerrr! It's your fourth as well, you greedy pig, not t-to mention all that mead that you're sneaking from Moony's stash! What?' Sirius asked noticing Peter shift guiltily. 'Thought I wass too drunk to noticsee?' he tried saying it in a sexy TV show voice while attempting to raise an eyebrow but his words were all slurred and he failed miserably. The result making him sound like creepily like Professor Kettleburn when he got drunk at last year's Christmas feast and sending Remus into fits of drunken laughter.

Sirius looked at James as if for support but, noticing the expression on his face, frowned. Both Remus and Peter turned to look at James as well. He was staring at his glass of firewhiskey as if willing it to answer all the mysteries of the universe. 'Prongs, mate, you okay?' Remus asked, sounding concerned. Thought at this point, the concern was for all the alcohol that might be wasted if James was sick or decided to smash things like the last time he was drunk.

James started. He drank some more of his firewhiskey, set it down, took a deep breath. 'We finish tomorrow. For good.' He said, rather stupidly as if he had just realised it. He looked at each one of them, eyes suddenly bright. 'I mean', he said more seriously 'we're not coming back after the summer. This is it. No more sneaking off into Hogsmeade or stealing food from the kitchens or picking fights with the snakes for a laugh. No more of all the good stuff.'

He looked away, clearly not wanting to show much emotion in front of the guys and having to face them laughing at him. No one laughed, however. James' declaration seemed to have hit Peter who was staring at him, his eyes wide and frightful. Remus, who thought he had been through his share of moping and depression over the fact seemed to be proving himself wrong.

It was Sirius who spoke, 'That is bullshit. You know that right?'James looked up, his expression indignant and angry; he had expected the guys to laugh at what a wimp he was being but it seemed he still wanted them to understand on some level. But Sirius carried on, 'You'll still ace your NEWTs, well at least Transfiguration, you have Evans now and you'll still...'

He trailed off, and shook his head as if clearing his thoughts. He stood up suddenly, looking rather impressive against the night sky behind him. The Black rebel looked down at the other three boys sat on the floor of the Astronomy Tower, for this was where they had decided to have their last ever in-school, all-Marauders, all-booze party. The expression on his face told Remus that even though it was triggered by the alcohol, Sirius' words were as true as James' had been about 40 seconds ago.

'You'll still have US! I don't know about you guys,' he continued, words still slurry but with more conviction, 'but the best part about all of that was that I got to do it with you. So what if we leave Hogwarts? And don't look at me like that Prongs, you know how much this place means to me – it's the best, if not the only proper home I've ever had. But the point is, if not at Hogwarts, we'll be at the Ministry, as Aurors, but still pranking people in other departments and flirting with the interns and secretaries and helping Moony out every month because we are cool and amaaazing and will be so even if we turn fucking 30. We'll still be the Marauders. Don't yo-'

Sirius stumbled and fell on Peter who shrieked and scrambled away thinking Sirius was attacking him. Remus just stared at Sirius and thinking about what he had just said. He didn't want to point out that pranking other departments could get them fired or that Remus could never find a job at the Ministry. He had thought that his lycanthropy would separate him from the rest of them once they left Hogwarts but to hear that he still figured in their ideal future touched him and left him lost for words.

'Urgh Padfood! Get up!' Peter wormed his way back to the group. James was also looking at Sirius. His eyes still bright. But then a smile so wide it would have made the Cheshire cat proud broke on his face. 'I like that!' he boomed. '30 years old and still Maraudraue... Madraudri... Maraurerd... MARAUDERERING! We should so do that when we turn 30!' he declared, 'Padfoot! Padfoot?'

Padfoot had passed out. Disappointed, James looked at Remus, 'I thought it was a brilliant idea!' Peter agreed. 'Yeah! Maurauder-ing at 30!', Remus said.

Now, standing opposite No.4, Privet Drive, watching little Harry mow the lawn, the stranger (because even he could not recognise himself at times) thought to himself, 'It really was a brilliant thought. Marauder-ing at 30. Shame that the Marauders aren't here anymore.'

He thought of Prongs – who had confronted Remus and then come up with the idea of becoming Animagi. Who led them into every silly prank they had played. Who looked like the happiest man on earth a mere 2 days before he had died. Great husband and father. The proud stag.

He thought of Wormtail – who was the one the Slytherins used to pick on the most. But who was surprisingly sneakier than the rest of the Marauders combined and could be trusted to improvise an alibi for any prank. The silent supporter. The nimble rat.

He thought of Padfoot, no! Not Sirius Black who betrayed Prongs and who was now in Azkaban; that was a different person! He thought of Padfoot – who had been the first to discover Remus' secret. Who would always stand up to the Slytherins who picked on Wormtail because he hated people like his parents and their morals. Whose little declaration that night was still ringing in his ears. Strong, loud and brave. The ever-energetic dog.

He thought of Moony, Remus Lupin – who wasn't supposed to go to Hogwarts, let alone make friends. Who never expected the acceptance he got from his friends in school and could never be grateful enough for it. Who had finally accepted that he also deserved to be happy and that he would be happy, thanks to his pack. So different from the Remus Lupin who now stood opposite the Dursleys' house.

This Remus Lupin, near invisible, was looking at Harry but was seeing only James. James Potter, Prongs, wishing with every fibre of his being that he would look up and ruffle his hair and give him his trademark cocky grin saying, 'Hahaha Moony! You're 30 Moony! Are you sure you should stand like that in this weather, wouldn't that be too tiring? Come on in!'

But of course this was just wishful thinking. This was the closest, it seemed, that he would ever get to another Marauder. What possessed him to make this journey was beyond comprehension to him now. Remus sighed.

The boy in front of him tensed. He turned around quickly, looking exactly at Remus with a confused expression wondering where the sound had come from. His eyes were boring into the spot where Remus stood – almond shaped eyes that were green; just like his mothers.

Just like his dead mothers, Remus realised. He wasn't supposed to be here – not because Dumbledore had asked him not to come, but because here, in the most normal part of the Muggle world, he wasn't Moony, he wasn't even Remus Lupin. He was a stranger. Moony didn't exist here, or for that matter, anywhere else anymore.

So the lone Marauder turned his back to the nine year old Potter boy and walked away.