There's a grief that can't be spoken
There's a pain that goes on and on
Empty chairs at empty tables
Now my friends are dead and gone It had only been a day since Sirius Black had died. Just a day since the attack on the Ministry of Magic, and yet it felt like a year. Remus Lupin walked through the halls of Hogwarts, halls he himself had run and walked and crept along. Though, back then, he had not walked them alone.
Almost without thought, he found himself navigating the way to the room that had become their meeting place throughout the years they attended school there. The room that had been the place of fights, reconciliations, pain, and blissful joy. It was here that they confronted Remus about his "furry little problem", as James jokingly referred to it. It was here that so many pranks were planned, Remus had frankly lost count. And it was also here, in their final year, that their worries and minds turned to the war that had been brewing.
Remus entered the room without any troubles. After all, he knew it as well as he knew the Gryffindor Common Room. He cast tired eyes around the Room of Requirement. Their Room of Requirement. It wasn't much, as he remembered. A few couches, a large table near the far wall with four plain wooden chairs around it. Sirius had called it the Marauder's Round Table. James had called Sirius an idiot. The werewolf allowed himself a ghost of a smile at the memory. A large bookshelf full of books of spells and jinxes stood against one side wall. And, scratched into the wall behind the table, a handful of words carved into the wall by James. Underneath, their names were scratched in. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.
All hail the Marauders, the greatest Hogwarts has ever seen!
Here they talked of Revolution
Here it was they lit the flame
Here they sang about tomorrow
And tomorrow never came
Sirius, in their last year, had voiced more outrage than the rest combined at what was going on ourside of Hogwarts. He had always been very sensitive to the issue of purebloods believing themselves to be an ideal kind of witch or wizard. After all, he had grown up with some of the foulest of them. In their last year, their pranks had been less and their talks of what would happen after their last day of Hogwarts grew.
Dumbledore had taken the Marauders, as well as a few other students he believed would be useful, aside one night and invited them to join a group that would combat Lord Voldemort. The Order of the Pheonix. James and Sirius had been ecstatic, of course. They constantly talked about how the war would end, and everone would be equal, and all the pureblood nonsense would end for good. Remus had been convinced as well, not only for the equality of pureblood witches and wizards and ones who were not, but perhaps also for the equality of those like him. After all, a werewolf could have great hope for equality from a war. Peter had been very reluctant from the beginning. Remus knew now that he had only joined because his friends had. And later, he would stay only because his Master bid him to.
From the table in the corner
They could see a world reborn
And they rose with voices ringing
And I can hear them now
The very words that they have sung
Became their last communion
On this lonely barricade at dawn
Remus wandered over to the table and sat at the table, in the chair that had once been his. He let out a shaky breath and ran a hand over his face. He would be needed soon. Dumbledore had requested a meeting as soon as Remus was able. And he would be able in a few minutes. But first, he would allow himself this little while to remember his friends.
Oh my friends, my friends, forgive me Phantom faces at the windows
That I live and you are gone
There's a grief that can't be spoken
There's a pain that goes on and on
Phantom shadows on the floors
Empty chairs at empty tables
Where my friends will meet no more
He would mourn all of them. James, Sirius, and even Peter, though he had betrayed them. James and Sirius had died heroes deaths, and had they had the choice, they would have rather died in that way. He mourned the way they laughed, the ideas they had. He mourned the brave hearts they had, and the selflessnes that would cause their deaths. For Peter, he would mourn the boy he had once known. For he knew, even through his bitterness and anger, that though Peter was a coward, he had not always been evil. Once, Peter Pettigrew would have been horrified at the meer thought of betraying his friends. Remus mourned that Peter, instead of the one who had been too horrified to stop betraying his friends.
But mostly, he mourned for the boys all four of them had been, and the tricks and talks and times where he would laugh so hard he would have to lie down later. He gazed at each of the three chairs that still sat at the table, and as he did, he felt himself start to cry, without shame and without holding back. He had never been one to cry, really. Not even when he was younger and the pain of the transformations had been new and fresh and frightening. He had always been calm, had always kept an even temper. This only showed how much the recent years had changed him.
Oh my friends, my friends
Don't ask me what your sacrifice was for
Empty chairs at empty tables
Where my friends will sing no more
I watched Les Mis with my girlfriend Sydney yesterday for the first time, and basically nothing was happy about it. And for some reason, I've been having a lot of feelings for the Marauder boys lately, specifically Remus, so there will probably be more in their Era coming soon. I'm on summer break, so hopefully I'll be posting more stories. Thank you all for your contant patience and support! Most sincerely, Avi W. Lovegood