A/N: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers :]
This is my entry in the Suicidal Challenge. I asked for three characters, and I'm not sure if I have to do all three for the challenge, though I will probably end up doing them all at some point. This is my entry, though, for Remus Lupin. I've never written him before, though I've always wanted to, so please forgive me if it feels a little off. I hope it turned out okay. Thanks for reading =D
Despite the fact that he had never been a heavy drinker, Remus Lupin poured the rest of the Firewhiskey into his glass and set it on the coffee table, falling back onto his lumpy, uncomfortable sofa. Everything else had changed, why shouldn't this change as well? It had been exactly 2 weeks, 3 days, and 22 hours since the fall of Voldemort, and since Remus had lost everyone who had ever really meant anything to him. Sirius was still alive, but just the thought of him was enough to drive Remus mad. His blood boiled at the thought of Sirius, Sirius Black, James Potter's best friend in the world, betraying him. It hurt more because he never would have expected it.
He had long ago come to terms with the fact that while the four Marauders had been best friends, James and Sirius had a bond between the two of them that he and Peter couldn't compete with. They had been like brothers, always had been. James and Lily had even made Sirius baby Harry's godfather. Knowing that Sirius had had information about James, Lily, and Harry's safety, and been the only one who had it, and had used it against them made him feel sick to his stomach. When he had heard the news that James and Lily were dead, and Harry, an innocent baby, nearly had been as well, he had actually been sick.
So, here he was. James was dead. So was Lily, and so was Peter. Sirius was gone, too. Everyone that had ever meant something to him was either dead or gone. So why the hell was he left here, on his own? How was he supposed to go on?
He didn't want to.
The realization that he just didn't have it in him to try anymore had come over him four nights ago, as he had been lying in bed, weak and exhausted. The full moon had been the night before and it always took a lot out of him, and as he had collapsed into his bed, he'd said to himself, "I don't want to do this anymore." But he didn't just mean he didn't want to be a werewolf anymore, because he had never wanted to be a werewolf.
Remus drained his glass of Firewhiskey and set it back down on the table. His head was throbbing, his stomach aching with hunger and complaining about the fact that he'd given it little more than booze and Chocolate Frogs in a while. His house was a mess, but then again, it always was. He lived in a tiny shithole of a cottage, way out in the country, in the middle of nowhere, that James had bought for him for dirt cheap. It was out of the way, which was perfect for his monthly issues, and even though he'd protested at his best friend spending his money on him, there had never been any question that James would do it for him.
"You need a little help right now, Moony...you're one of my best friends. I know you'd do whatever you could for me, too."
Remus scrubbed his hands over his face, tears of anger and frustration and utter, complete loss coming out of him. He sniffed and stood up, going into the kitchen and rummaging around for another bottle of Firewhiskey. He opened it and took a long drink, stumbling a little as he walked. On a whim, he opened the back door and went outside, taking a sharp breath of the cold night air. It burned his lungs and woke him up a little.
As he walked barefoot along the back of the property, he looked up at the starry night sky and found himself saying, "Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs." Their childhood nicknames stuck in his throat, and even though they were only words, they tasted bitter. The four Marauders would never be together again, and even though he hated Sirius for what he'd done, he was grieving the loss of him, as well. He was mourning the person he had thought Sirius was, and all of the good memories he had of him, of all of his friends.
He had always been the quietest and most pensive of the group of friends, something Padfoot and Prongs had never let him live down. He'd always been teased for not wanting to join in on what they considered fun as they picked on people at school, kids who couldn't or wouldn't defend themselves. "You're too soft, Moony, it's just a bit of fun!" James was often heard saying. That, and "Cheer up! There's no point in being gloomy all the time." There was no one left to tell him to buck up or to tell him jokes until he smiled, or take the bottle of Firewhiskey away and tell him what an idiot he was being.
Moony looked up at the stars, and drew his wand out of his pocket. The spell he needed came to the front of his mind without him having to reach for it, and he traced it over his wrist. This was messy and it hurt surprisingly bad, the blood flowing from his body quickly, but he knew it would work. He knew that he wouldn't be awake in the morning to sit around missing his friends anymore. He laid down in the grass and stared up at the stars. There wasn't time for second chances or regrets, and he didn't have any. A part of him had always known it would come down to this. When everything's been taken from you, the only thing left is to remove yourself. Why should he be left to remember what used to be? He didn't want to; he preferred this floating, this blissful ending to a tale he wished he'd never been part of.