With Four Dirty Paws

Written by: Adventure-Seeking-Juliet

A/N: This was written for Round Six of QLFC. My prompt was "diary entry" and I chose two optional prompts, "Perfume" and "I have no money left."

Summary: The war is over, but Remus Lupin's battle has just begun; he is the last marauder. This serves as a companion fic to The Grim.

November 1, 1981

I woke up in a state of bliss. Last night, I retired early after drinking one too many firewhiskeys, but my dreams had been full of the past. I dreamed the war was over, that Sirius trusted me again…I dreamed we were all together, just as we were meant to be.

I can't believe it. It's not true.

November 2, 1981

I don't really know what to write, but I thought that if I can observe the facts, maybe it will all start to fall together.

Sirius is in Azkaban now. He didn't get a trial, and if I'm being honest, I guess he didn't deserve one. There's no logical way to deny his guilt. He sold Lily and James to Voldemort.

He murdered countless muggles…and destroyed Peter.

The Prophet claims, "All that was left was a finger." Maybe it's wrong…he may not have trusted me, but I still can't imagine Sirius ever doing these things.

James and Lily are dead, but so is Voldemort. Or, at least, that's what the minister claims. Until there's straight evidence, I'll never believe them. It's hard to even believe that the others are dead…and there's plenty of proof for that.

Little Harry is gone, Dumbledore tells me he is to be raised by his muggle relatives, and although I trust the headmaster…I can't help but question his decision. I know, better than anyone, what it's like to be an outsider in your own family. If Voldemort does return, what chance will he have?

November 3, 1981

They can't be gone. I'm not ready for this. I'm the werewolf, I was supposed to die first. ME. I can't deal with this, they were all I had in this world, whether they trusted me or not.

I hate war. It tears us all apart.

I can't be the only one left.

I am the last marauder.

November 4, 1981

I'm drunk, again. But this time I know what will fuel my dreams.

Images of my only friends- Lily, covered in blood, even though I know that a killing curse doesn't work that way. Why does my brain refuse to observe the facts? She and James died in an instant...in one bright flash of green light.

Still, in my dreams, Harry's scar is in the shape of a dog, a big black dog, with loyal eyes. I know it's not true, but what happened to us, Sirius? I always knew my paws were dirty, but I never dreamed yours were just as black.

November 5, 1981

This hangover will be the death of me...and with the full moon in a week's time, I don't think I'll make it out. And the worst part is I don't care. I look forward to ending this hell, but I'm too much of a coward to do it myself.

From what I've been told, new anti-werewolf legislation will be going into effect soon. Without the backing of the Order, I fear I want be able to find a job in the wizarding world...I don't know what I'll do.

But I know I can't wallow in my misery any longer, they wouldn't want that.

November 5, 1982

I apologize for my inconsistency. After what happened, I just lost the will to keep this up to date. I didn't want to think about it, and somehow, whenever I pulled out my quill, it was all I could think about.

Things still don't feel right to me. As much as I've tried to reason it, I can't understand what would lead Sirius to make the choice he did. I know him. I was loyal to a fault. His attack on Peter could make sense...Sirius had angry outbursts from time to time.

His feud with Snape had almost ended in murder, and in the past year, I've obsessed over that situation. Could that moment have been the precursor to his attack on Peter and the muggles? Was it family? Had they influenced him?

Sometimes I think there was something evil in Sirius, even then. He would have allowed me to murder Severus Snape, and what kind of a man would do that? The guilt would have ruined me.

November 10, 1982

I don't want to bring Sirius up again, but I can't help myself. I drank too much tonight...and he's always in the back of my mind. How could he not be? We're the last two.

I always thought I was alone, but I'm not. I'm not the only marauder.

December 25, 1982

It's Christmas.

But I'm alone, just like I was last Christmas. I imagine it will always be like this. But what's the point of having friends, I couldn't afford to buy them gifts. I would only be a burden.

I'm getting kicked out, have I written that yet? That's why I'm drunk again. I have no money left. I have nowhere to live. I work two muggle jobs, but they aren't enough.

What's the point of a life without love?

I wonder if the nights are this cold in Azkaban.

March 16, 1984

It's been a long time, and, once again, I apologize, but after I lost my flat, life got rough. I'd always been poor and dangerous, but for a span of about a month, I was poor, dangerous, and homeless.

I admit I thought about them a lot during that time. I thought about lying down in the snow and joining them, but in the end, I couldn't do it. Even if he's a deranged murderer, I can't leave Sirius to be the last marauder.

Things are different now. I'm running errands for Dumbledore...and he makes sure I have a home.

November 1, 1991

Last night was the anniversary. James, Lily, and Peter have been dead for ten years. Harry's been an orphan for a decade.

Sirius Black is still in Azkaban, but he's mad as a hatter from what I understand. I've accepted the truth now. The past is the past.

But I couldn't help myself. Last night, I went to their house. It's been made into a monument- a symbol of good and how war corrupts it. Godric's Hollow was full of people, most of whom were there to gawk at their house.

It's not the same for those people. I actually spent nights in that house.

I drank, once again. It seems to be my go-to problem solver these days, but this time it was different, I went to a pub.

It was a sad place, full of half-dressed middle-aged women and angry, bitter men, like me, but much older.

She came up to me, a woman dressed all in black, and immediately, I thought of Sirius. Still, I didn't stop her when she leaned in for a kiss. Over the stench of alcohol, I could smell her cheap perfume. It smelled like cotton candy.

And I knew it was wrong, but I took her to my flat. I made love to her without loving her at all.

And the whole time, I thought of Sirius Black, rotting away in Azkaban for the murder of the innocents...and I thought...I may not be locked away, but my paws are as dirty as his.

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