Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Content warning: Attempted Suicide; Canon Character Deaths.
Summary: Remus had lived, but at what cost?
A/N: I've had a writer's block with GA, so decided to hop back to the Harry Potter fandom. From the Ground Up will be updated soon through. Also, pretty sure I have another fic very much like this, but I just can't get enough of Remus Lupin.
I want to write a multi-chapter fic for Harry Potter, so let me know if you really want to see something. If I think I can write it, I surely will!
Remus had been in the First Order, when they were barely out of school, young Gryffindors eager to fight and combat. He had been the most mature out of the group, but he had been naive, putting his every bit of trust in Dumbledore, believing he was invincible.
It was funny, really, how much confidence Hogwarts had given him, when he was nothing but a monster.
Life proved him time and time again that he was not invincible, only he was left physically unaffected (unless you count being ripped apart and put back together once a month, but who is?). But emotionally, emotionally he dissolved.
When Mary had fled for wherever, he had been angry. Angry that one of his best friends was willing to put her life before everyone else's. Angry that a Gryffindor wasn't willing to fight.
When Mary returned, he was still angry at her. So when, in that split second he decided to go help Peter battle a death eater instead of her, not because Peter was weaker, but because he was angry, and Mary was hit by the killing curse, he didn't feel angry anymore. Guilt tore him up like paper. He refused to go on any more field missions, pouring over books in the Potter Manor.
When Dorcas had been killed by Voldemort, he was still healing. So when news reached him and Lily, he decided to put all his emotions aside and console Lily, who had been friends with her since they were eleven.
No, instead, the morning of the next full moon, he found blood on his hands that didn't belong to him.
When Marlene was found bloodied and broken in her own home with her family, Sirius was enraged. He went around the small flat they owned, throwing whatever he could get his hands on. Remus didn't have the energy to fight him, no. Instead, he went to the balcony and drank his tea. Going to bed, oh how he wished he wouldn't wake up again.
Lily''s parents had died a few days later- Voldemort really knew how to play to their weaknesses. And when Petunia blocked her from entering the funeral ground, and James got into an angry argument with Vernon, the least he could do for his friends was drag them away. James and Lily visited the grave later, coming back to the safe house with Lily in his arms, fast asleep.
"She tired herself out from crying." he had said, before moving towards their room.
The night Dumbledore told them about the prophecy, Lily had flooed to Remus' place, very pregnant and all. She paced the dining room floor, waddling around the dining table seemingly reassuring herself. The moment he had mentioned James, she had turned to him and asked not to speak of him.
Remus never knew why.
On the night of Harry's birth, Remus had also been there (not in the room, that was James' job). He had sat in the living room until he had been called in. Sirius, away on a mission with Peter and unable to make it had sworn him to death that he would tell him all about it.
Harry had been tiny, barely the size of his arm. Lily, sweaty and tired, had been the happiest she had ever seen her. James sat behind her, letting her rest her head on his chest, and he held Harry's tiny fingers as Lily cradled him to her chest.
That had been one of the few happy moments. Everyone in the room, well almost everyone, knew that the tiny boy in Lily's hands had a death sentence awaiting him, but for once, no one cared.
When Dearborn was reported missing, Mad-Eye had gone to search for him. He came back with no leads, and they never found any.
Benjy had been discovered, rather, what was left of him was discovered in a basement of a safe house a month later.
Then there had been some semblance of peace. For a while, Voldemort let them grieve (more like he stepped back to plan other attacks).
The morning after James and Lily had died, Dumbledore had come to visit him in his house, now a rundown cottage after Sirius had deemed the city too unsafe to live in. He hadn't seen any of his friends in months then, with Order business and infiltrating the werewolves, he had felt dirty. Too dirty to be anywhere around Harry.
He had made tea for Dumbledore, and was still holding the tray when Dumbledore had told him. The hot liquid sloshed all over his clothes, but he paid no mind.
They were dead.
He had half a mind to go after Sirius, but he couldn't seem to figure out how to work his hands. Or his anything, really. Instead, as if on auto-pilot, he made his way to his room, laid on the bed, and closed his eyes, praying not for the first time that he would never have to open them again.
He doesn't know how long it had been when he got out of bed again.
Three days later, when news of Sirius' capture and Peter's death had arrived, was when Remus couldn't bring himself to care.
A year after the fall of Voldemort did Remus realise no one had mentioned Harry. Emmeline had visited a couple of times, red eyes, bringing some food along with her. Mad-Eye had come and given him a talk, not that he had paid attention, but no one had told him Harry was dead. Or, if he was alive, where he was.
Eleven years later, when Remus sat on that train, he never imagined he would be meeting Harry again. He had never been the intimate type, choosing to pat James and Peter on the back and give Lily a quick peck on the cheek, but there was nothing he wanted to do more than hug Harry.
When he found out the truth about Sirius, it took him all his might to not go and jump off the Astronomy tower.
Two years later, when Sirius actually died, it took a very broken Tonks to bring him back down from there.
When Dumbledore died, he had proposed to Tonks, wanting to do whatever he could before he too ended up dead like everyone else.
When Tonks told him she was pregnant, he took it well. Only, he couldn't. No, instead he fled, hastily writing a note to her and running for shelter. It took a very angry seventeen year old boy to convince him to go back.
When the war ended Tonks had died, he couldn't do anything. He left Teddy with Molly for a while, who took the opportunity as a distraction from Fred.. And he ran. Sat long nights in the woods, eyes dry and emotionless.
Oh, how he wanted to forget.
Remus had survived both wars, with only cuts and bruises, but the wounds he held went deeper than his skin.