In Memoriam

by S_Star

Rating: PG

Pairings: Implied Remus/Sirius

Disclaimer: Not mine. I wouldn't have let it end like that....

Summary: Remus reflects.

Notes: This is a first person piece from Lupin's POV after OotP. The angst will eat you alive.

~*~

I have to admit that I'm not as shocked as I should be. Sadder, most definitely, but some part of me somehow knew that this was coming.

To hear Harry tell it, I was relatively calm – or at least, compared with others – when I held him back from death. Apparently I sounded 'numb', telling Harry that he wasn't coming back, that there was nothing anyone could do.

To be perfectly honest, I can't remember anything afterwards, not really. I hear I helped the others out. Someone, I don't know who, dubbed me a 'hero', which was definitely a bit strong, especially since I failed the one person I care most about.

I think that I now know, to some extent, how Harry must have felt (or rather, feels), but – and I hate to say this – I also think that I lost more in this fight. I know his regrets, they are other's also, but he hadn't lost his best friend.

I don't think that anyone really understands. Tonks (now good as you, I'm pleased to report) tries, she really does, but she and everyone else, especially old Mad-Eye, are apparently 'resigned to the inevitability of casualties in this field of work'.

I'm certain Albus Dumbledore knows; he always seems to – doesn't miss a thing, even though he is, dare I say it, advancing in years.

I've been told that even as a wolf I'm sluggish and lethargic to a scary degree, but the numerous pleas for me to either lighten up or pay a visit to St Mungo's have either been ignored or stamped on. I don't even try to put on a brave face, as I did before. As I tried absently to fix up the kitchen of his old house last week, everyone insisted that I played 'the glad game', or at least 'tried, for Harry's sake'. They don't seem to know why I'm so torn up about this.

'It was bound to happen,' they'd say. 'Cheer up, Remy, we have to make everyone feel better about this, especially poor Harry; they never got the chance to know each other.'

I feel guilt upon everything when I'm bitter about this: I know more than most how bad it's been for him, and I know that I should try to talk to him or something, but all my traitorous heart can wonder is why no one notices that this is killing me.

I knew him for what feels like forever, at least the best part of thirty years, and I can't be expected to smile about it, even in pretence. He is – was – my best friend.

This is no secret, but very few people know just how close we were, even after twelve years' separation. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was in love with him, and still am, and this is the reason everyone puzzles over why I wasn't this broken when James was killed.

I don't think I know how to move on, and to be quite honest, I don't know that I want to.

However, it seems that I have no choice. This house, Buckbeak, everything else of his belongs to Harry now, for him to do as he will, not that the house had any real signs of being his except a small, burnt patch in the family tapestry.

He has nothing anymore, and neither do I. I'm just an old werewolf now, beyond real work, beyond most things, surrounded by well-wishers but truly alone.

If you're out there, Padfoot, please know that your Moony misses you.

~*~