Title: To Be

Rating: Oh, I dunno.

Warnings: This one might not be very good... My self-confidence wanes. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling. Yayuh. And my true love, Conor Oberst. And yes, I know that I've butched this song to make it fit my own devices x.x;; It's cool. Artistic license.

As for the month and a half (or thereabout) gap in updates... I'm so sorry! I can explain! Please! Don't hate me! Okay, here goes -- the second week in December, I got out of school and spent a week with my boyfriend, sans computer. Then, my scary Jesus-school closed the dorms for the holidays, so I had no place to live and had to return to my boring-ass hometown to live with my mother for a month and a half. Usually, my mother has wireless internet. She also breeds these wretched, expensive cats. Apparently sometime after Thanksgiving, my mother's internet abruptly decided to stop working. I blame the cats. So here I am, updating from Barnes and fucking Noble and forced to live in a place where 20 billion cats try to ruin my life, I have no internet, the coolest hangout spot is Barnes and Noble, and she-devils from two different Hot Topics constantly want me to drop what I'm doing to come work for them, but won't put me on a schedule. Aghhh! I don't get to go to a non-cat-ridden, internet-capable, cooler-places-than-Barnes-and-Noble-having, friend-filled Hot Topic, Jesus-friendly environment until the 25ish. Aghhh! again! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please forgive me?

I swear, once I get back to school, I'll respond with a burning passion to each and every review!

So please review? Please?

There's a voice on the phone telling what had happened
Some kind of confusion, more like a disaster
And I wondered how you were left unaffected
But you had no knowledge
And though I know that my actions are impossible to justify
They seem adequate to fill up my time
If I could talk to myself like I was someone else
Well then maybe I could take your advice

The folksingers, poets, and playwrights convene
Dispelling their wisdom, oh dear amateur orators
They will detail their pain in some standard refrain
They will recite their sadness like it's some kind of contest
Well if it is, I think I am winning it
All beaming with confidence as I make my final lap
The gold medal gleams, so hang it around my neck
Cause I am deserving it, the champion of idiots

"Remus, please eat," his mother gently urged.

Remus shifted his hands where they lay clasped in his lap as he glanced up at his parents. His mother was adjacent to him, looking frail and visibly shaken. Across the table, was his father. No perceptable emotion showed through his stony features. Remus's eyes fell back down towards his lap. "I'm not really hungry..."

She sighed. "Please? You're too thin. You really should eat..."

He felt a dull throbbing deep inside him as he wished he could go back in his room. He couldn't stand to be sitting there, helpless beneath both his parents' prying glares. Especially his father's. There was just something about the rigid, numb way he was staring at him... Remus braved another glance up. "He's not eating," he responded quietly, nodding towards his father, not making eye contact. "Neither are you," he observed.

"I--Yes I am," his mother attempted to smile as she pushed the food around on her plate with a shaking fork.

A few minutes passed in treacherous, wretchedly awkward silence. The only sound was that of his mother's fork scraping idly against her plate.

Suddenly, a cough from his father broke the silence. "I thought, erm... While we're all in here together," his tone was just as unreadable as his countenance as he stood up, his chair screeching against the floor as he pushed past it. Remus furrowed his brow in mild confusion as his father retreated to the foyer, where several small boxes of Remus's things still remained. He returned bearing three pieces of parchment. A terrifying jolt ripped Remus from his own body as he recognized the papers. All at once, his throat squeezed itself shut, his heart beat furiously against his ribs, so fast it was going to explode, his stomach wound and wound itself into knots, so he felt sick with nerves. "I found these a little while ago," he said calmly as he dropped them on the table.

Remus's first, immediate reaction was to want to grab the sheets of parchment and run, run out of the room, out of the house, out of everything. Instead, he found himself frozen, petrified by his nerves. He just stared at his father with wide, frightened eyes as everything went cold.

"What's this?" his mother asked innocently as she picked up the top piece of parchment. "Sirius--" she read, glancing over to Remus with her brow furrowed. She looked downward to resume reading, her voice soft and shaking, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry to--" she choked on her words as she realized what she was reading, her eyes quickly overflowing with tears.

Remus was suddenly burning up as he felt himself, over and over, sink into the ground. His heart finally did explode inside his chest. It was painful and made him agonizingly aware of everything that was happening around him: every shudder and gasp from his mother, every glare from his father. He felt like he was going to be sick.

"Keep--keep reading," his father stammered, the emotion in his voice defying his blank expression.

She continued, her voice thick and mixed with sobs, "I'm sorry to have -- put you through -- all this. It's--it's not your f-fault. I love you m-more than -- any-anything."

Remus's breathing became fast and shallow as tears began to fall, burning their way down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry -- to make you and -- e-everyone else live -- with this. P-please tell my -- my --" at this point her sobs rendered her nearly unintelligible. Remus's father stood next to her, one hand on her shoulder. "-- my p-parents that I l-love them and -- and -- and -- Evander, I can't -- I can't!" she grasped her husband's shirt, the parchment still clutched in one hand as she sobbed into his chest.

Remus drew his legs up onto the chair, burying his face in his knees. He pulled hard at his hair with one hand, digging his fingernails as deeply into his forehead as he could with the other. His eyes were shut painfully tight. This was agonizing. This was the very, very worst feeling he'd ever felt. Worse than confessing his darkest wish to a stranger in the library. Worse than clumsily holding his wand to his chest for what seemed like an eternity, scared to death that his killing curse might work. Worse than his self-loathing at his relief when it didn't. Worse than selfishly breaking Sirius, and feeling his only love and strength shaking and sobbing in his arms. Worse than watching himself hack through his already-splayed-open flesh, so deep he could see his muscle, see his veins sliced open and pouring out red. Worse than not feeling relieved at all when he'd woken up to find that that hadn't worked. Far, far worse was sitting there at the table in the home where he grew up, listening to his mother reading and sobbing into his suicide note. At that, he choked, letting out a loud gasp, his whole body shuddering and shaking as he sobbed.

His mother released his father's tear-stained shirt as she shakily got out of her chair, making her way to Remus. She knelt beside him where he sat gathered up in his chair, wrapping her arms around his heaving shoulders. She attempted to whisper through her tears, "No, Remus... Please... No..."

Remus recoiled, turning away from her. Her touch and weepy whisper only served to make his sobs harder to control. He hated himself. He shouldn't be alive. He shouldn't be here for this. He could imagine how it would have gone if he'd actually died, like he was supposed to. Last night, he hadn't really thought through what would happen when everyone learned of his death, what their reactions would be. Now he was living through it. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be here. That thought kept pounding itself painfully through his head as he cried harder. He shouldn't be here.

"Remus... Don't cry... No... Don't cry, don't cry..."

He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be here. He should be dead. No more. Nothing. Ever. Dead. In the ground. He had to get out of here. "Mum, Mum I-I'm fine," it came out as a hoarse whisper. He wiped his face, trying to take slow, deep breaths as he lowered his feet to the floor. When he opened his bleary and aching eyes, his father had left the room. He wiped his face again. "I just need to go to bed, Mum," he turned around to face her, although he couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes, "I'm just tired... And I need to--to rest for tomorrow night." His stomach plunged even further as he thought about the full moon. He couldn't do it. He couldn't. He wouldn't have to. Everything could still be okay. It would be okay. "Mum?"

"Yes, yes..." she, too, began to wipe her eyes. Like Remus's, her voice was still clouded with tears, "You need sleep. We all do." She stood, taking a deep breath to compose herself. Remus noticed that her hands were still shaking wildly. "Here, let me help you into bed..."

"I'm fine." He also stood up, his whole body aching horribly. "I'm not a child, Mum."

"I know, but-- It would make me feel better."

"I'll be fine," he hoped it sounded reassuring. He wrapped one arm around his mother. "Goodnight, Mum."

She pulled him into a smothering hug. "Are you sure you're going to be alright?"

"I'm sure," he said as he tried to pull away.

"I love you, Remus"

"Love you too, Mum," he kept his eyes on the ground as he escaped from her motherly embrace. He quickly turned and walked down the hall to his room before she had any more time to protest.

Remus shut the door to his room, releasing a deep, quavering sigh before collapsing onto his bed. That sinking feeling was still in his chest. He was still falling. A silent sob escaped his lips. He tried to smother it in his pillow. He was tired of crying. He was so, so tired of feeling this way, of having every turn of events, every day be worse than the last. This was his limit.

There was a deafening silence within the room, only interrupted by the occasional hiccupped sob. Even as he willed himself to calm down and forget about everything, the tears kept coming, his body kept heaving each time he finally had to gasp for air.

It was too much. No one was supposed to see those notes. And if they did, he was supposed to be dead, and it wouldn't matter. But here he was. Alive. With his blackest fears, his most painful goodbyes, most treacherously detailed and damningly honest thoughts exposed. Exposed. To his parents. Oh, god. His father...

Fuck. It didn't matter, he reassured himself. He could get away as soon as he was sure his parents were asleep, and then he could do things properly. No one would find him this time and it would never matter that his father had read what he wrote to Sirius. It wouldn't matter. His heart twisted painfully. Sirius wouldn't matter. But...

He didn't want Sirius not to matter. Sirius mattered more than anything. But... he was bad for Sirius, and he was going to leave tonight... all this was going to be over, and he would finally stop hurting... Why did this always turn into such a weak argument when it was up against Sirius?

He would have to just not think about him, then. It would be for the best, for everybody, especially Sirius. He'd broken him, ruined him with his own selfish suffering, he told himself as he shuddered with another sudden sob. It wasn't just Sirius, though. He'd broken everything. He was broken. He'd been broken all his life.

A quiet knock on his door.

Remus's heart flew into his throat. His mother. Checking to see if he was alright. That was it. "Come--Come in." he called weakly as he sat up on his bed, trying to quickly dry his eyes.

The door creaked open to reveal not his mother, but his father standing in the doorway, bearing that same stony, unreadable expression as before.

Remus's eyes darted about the floor, his heart pounding wildly as his father entered the room, shutting the door behind him.

"You've nearly killed your mother today. You know that, right?" his tone was casual, as if he were merely commenting on the weather.

Remus quietly cleared his throat before mumbling, "I'm sorry..."

He shook his head, "This time yesterday, we didn't even know anything was wrong."

Remus said nothing.

"So, how does it feel?"

Slightly thrown off-guard, he furrowed his brow as he looked up to meet his father's eyes. That fuck. What the hell kind of question was that? "How--How does what feel?"

"Having everything out in the open like this."

"Oh." Okay, that was a little less bastardly and insensitive than he thought it was going to be. But still... the way he worded it somehow made Remus much more uncomfortable than if it had been a cruel jab, like he thought. "I-I don't know..."

"You must at least feel a little better..."

Remus stared down at his feet, his heart pounding. Where was he going with this?

"From some of-- of what you wrote -- it sounds like you've really got a lot going on..." He crossed the room to stand directly in front of Remus. "I can't help but think that maybe, if you had talked to me or your mother about it, you wouldn't have -- well..."

Remus frowned. Maybe he really was just trying to reach out to him. And anyway, his father had never been the type to toy with people's emotions. He had always been straightforward, even to the point of insensitivity. Normally, that wasn't a good thing, but in this case...

"We're just grateful that we've got this chance now... that it's not too late, and maybe we can talk this out."

Remus nodded slightly. "O-Okay," he mumbled, still a bit uneasy.

"Your mother and I are here to help. You know that, right, Remus?"

Remus barely nodded.

"I just have one question, though..."

Remus glanced up, his brow still furrowed in confusion.

"What," his father took a breath, visibly trying to relax his facial muscles, which were beginning to tense into a heavy scowl. He tried to keep his voice level as he asked, "What, exactly, is going on with you and -- that boy?" the word dripped with scathing fury.

Fuck. Fuck. He felt the same explosion of nerves as he had when his father had laid his notes on the table earlier. The same sense of complete panic, utter terror tearing him out of his body. His voice sounded muffled, far away in his own ears, "I don't-- Nothing. He--He's my best friend."

"That's not the impression I got from reading those letters."

Remus stared down at his hands, biting his lip hard.

His father's voice started to shake as it grew louder, "You--you think you're in love with this--this boy?" He leaned forward towards Remus, interrogation-style.

Remus shuddered at the quiet popping sound as he bit down deep into his lip. He shrank back in pain, his eyes shutting tightly as he swallowed blood.

Of course, his father didn't hear any skin breaking, only silence, and saw no blood, only Remus shrinking away and shutting his eyes. At him. He roared through gritted teeth, "You sick little--" he cut himself off, hesitating a split-second before he swung his open palm hard and fast towards the side of Remus's head.

Remus hardly knew what happened. He heard a great wham in his left ear, and suddenly his head was throbbing and he was twisted around to the right, propping himself up with shaking hands, his face only inches from the bedspread. He breathed in too sharply and started coughing out blood. More was dripping steadily from his lip, staining his hands and the fabric before him deep crimson.

His father's eyes widened and his jaw went slack at the shock of the blood. Another rasping cough from his son sprayed tiny red spots onto the bed. Frozen, he gaped for a moment at the damage he thought he had inflicted, the bright blood streaming down Remus's pale chin as his whole body trembled. His father cleared his throat, sounding slightly shaken, "You-- you clean that up before you go to bed."

Remus raised his eyes to see him walking away, meeting his stare for a split-second before his father shut the door behind him. For a moment, Remus blankly stared back down at the red stain below him before pushing himself back up, his head pounding and his lip stinging. The backs of his hands were nearly covered in blood. Looking back down at the blood on his bed, he could clearly see the outline of both his hands, their fingers splayed out, giving the scene a much more macabre touch. There was no way he was cleaning that up.

Blood was still dribbling down his chin, occasionally dripping onto his lap with a quiet 'plip'. After a while, he blankly got up to get a washcloth from his trunk then went to the bathroom to clean his face, a deep sense of numbness coursing through his veins as his thoughts and tears from only a few minutes before were pushed away.

Remus thought his parents would never go to sleep. Last time he had tiptoed out to check, it was past midnight. Now, an hour later, he doubted that there would have been any change in their state of consciousness. He slowly opened his door, walking down the hall as slowly and quietly as he could, being careful not to trod on the floorboards which he knew to be squeaky. No light was shining from below their doorway. As he approached their door, he rolled his eyes. He was way too old for this kind of sneaking about. Ever so softly, he put his ear to the door, listening for voices, silence, anything.

Nothing. Nothing. A faint snore.

Excellent.

Silently, he made his way back to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him. Immediately, he opened his trunk, pulling out some warm clothes (he had never bothered getting properly dressed when they got home from Hogwarts), and a coat and hat. He quickly got dressed. His hair really was getting way too long; flattened down by his hat, it hung down past his nose. He pushed it out of the way as best he could. Quickly grabbing his wand from atop his desk, his eyes darted around, scanning for anything else he might need. Crossing the room, he pulled open his top drawer and pulled out his knife and a small bag of coins. Just in case.

He wordlessly nodded his wand at the candle on his nightstand. Suddenly immersed in darkness, he went over to the window, trying to open it as quietly as he could, cringing each time the panes squeaked. Once it was open, he carefully slipped through it.

The freezing wind outside stung his face, turned his breath into small clouds. Remus timidly stole a brief glance upward. The moon was nearly full. He shuddered, hugging his arms tightly across his chest as he set out walking across the yard. Remus hated when it was this bright out, when the moon smothered everything in its bright, silvery glow. And it was so fucking cold. One good thing about the biting chill, though, was that it made it a whole lot easier to keep his mind clear. That was all he had to do, really -- keep his mind blank through all this. He'd already done all his thinking, doubting, despairing, and planning in his room while waiting for his parents to fall asleep. He'd shed all his tears and cut himself numb, and now it would all work out if he could just keep his mind clear. The trees started to get thicker. He glanced back at his house. It looked dark and empty compared to the bright night around him.

He turned his attention back to the path ahead of him, which was steadily becoming darker, as the moonlight was blocked by more and more trees' naked, writhing branches. After a few more minutes of walking, he turned back around. He couldn't see his house from this far inside the forest.

He stood, arms tightly crossed, glancing around for a moment. He wasn't so sure he could do this: he'd never apparated more than a few feet before. There'd never really been any need. Could he really apparate hundreds of miles? Of course. He was done with doubting. He took in a deep, shaking breath before shutting his eyes tightly, and with a loud crack heard by no one but himself, he vanished.

Another loud crack. Remus opened his eyes as soon as he felt solid ground beneath his feet. The first thing he noticed was that it was even colder here than it was back home. The second thing he noticed was that he was not at his intended destination. Instead, he was standing in the middle of a narrow dirt road, surrounded on both sides by a dense forest. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dirty, stale snow, which glowed under the same bright moonlight. Had it snowed recently? Remus guessed it might have without his knowing: he hadn't been outside in the past week or so, except for today, but that was in a completely different part of the country.

He looked around again, more confused than concerned. Was he anywhere near where he had wanted to go? He didn't really trust himself to try to apparate again; who knew where he'd end up then? So, he was stuck here. Oh well. He guessed it didn't really matter. It only meant that things weren't going according to his plan. But that really was quite a problem, because, as it was, every move he made was already planned. He was detached, following a predetermined course, like he was under his own Imperius curse. But if he had to adapt his plans, then it would force him to be thoughtful of the situation, which was a terrible thing, because once he opened up his mind, it would start conspiring against him in its own selfish instinct for survival. It had a cruel way of making his solution to his despair seem, well, stupid. And pointless, and selfish, and rash. But mostly stupid. See? He had to keep his mind quiet. The only thing he was allowed to think about was the cold. Frowning, he started to walk down the path, his hands shoved deep inside his pockets.

His doubt over his location was quickly resolved a few minutes later, when the road forked. A small wooden sign indicated that Hogsmeade was to the right. He breathed a small sigh of relief as he picked up his pace. At least he'd ended up near where he'd wanted to go.

After a walk of around ten minutes or so, the forest abruptly cleared, the small village was only a few hundred meters down the road.

Another few minutes brought him to the main road of Hogsmeade. He stopped, pausing to look at all the darkened, closed buildings around him. Scrivenshaft's was to his right, Margot's Magical Market to his left, its outdoor displays cleared of the usual magically enhanced produce they held. Everything was cold and uninviting. Even the street lamps' dim glow only served to cast shivering shadows across the cobblestone road. As a sudden biting gust stabbed at his face, he became aware of how incredibly weary he was. After all, it had to be nearly two a.m. by now, and he hadn't exactly had the most relaxing day.

He tried to think things over for a moment, but couldn't. It was just too cold and he was too tired. He had to get inside. His original plan was to break into the Shrieking Shack, but it was just so far away... It was at the opposite end of the village from where he was now. all he had the energy to do now was sleep, anyway. He couldn't very well execute his overdue demise if he was nodding off the whole time... He frowned, noticing that his lip was rather swollen from where he had bit it earlier that night. He hadn't really noticed before, nor had he noticed that his left wrist was beginning to ache. Madam Pomfrey had told him to put that potion on it a few times a day, and he hadn't put any on it since he got home. It must have been beginning to wear off. So now, not only was he cold and tired, he was in an increasing amount of pain. That was it. Forget suicide. He was going to go stay... somewhere. He supposed the Hog's Head, seeing as how it was the only inn in Hogsmeade. Maybe he'd luck out and some goblins would kill him in his sleep.

Nothing foils suicide quite like being tired and cold. Yay!

Please review? I love you. I really do. (hug)