Listen--

by Amy
6-24-2001
Archive: Anywhere. Just ask ;-)
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books, and all characters and settings therein, are the property of J.K. Rowling and her publishers, along with whomever else they've sold the rights to. Needless to say, I'm not one of those people, but then, I'm not making any money off of this either.
Notes: This is a rather train-of-thought 'fic, but I figure that if it can't stand alone, it shouldn't stand at all. Therefore I shall simply offer my apologies to the Grammar Gods, with appropriate sacrifices, and leave it at that. Thanks to undefined and Rosie Sinistra for restoring my faith in beta-readers; all remaining errors are entirely my own.
If you love me you'll leave a review ^_~. Con. crit., flames (flames?) or just about anything will be recieved, knowing me, ecstatically. Or if you have something lengthy to say, you could drop me a line at chimara.geo@yahoo.com.

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Remus, he said to me. Remus, I'm frightened.

And I said something meaninglessly reassuring, we're all frightened, Peter, these are hard times; hard times and dark ones to be a wizard. But I could see he was scared, really scared, his round, familiar face pinched and sallow; eyes that had sparkled were hollow and spooked.

No, he said, Remus--Moony--I really am. I'm terrified of what will happen to me--

To us, I said firmly. If anything happens, it will happen to all of us. Remember back at Hogwarts, we swore...

We were kids, he reminded me. We were only kids and we didn't know anything, and now I know and I'm scared. I don't sleep, nights.

I couldn't think of anything to say, because he was right. Back then we were Gryffindors, daring and brave and unbelievably stupid. We would have died before we'd admit to being scared.

Actually, Sirius would probably still die first.

But what was I supposed to say to him? Should I tell him to buck up, or swear to protect him, or should I just listen?

Sirius would do the first, and James the second, so I guess that left me the third. I listened.

I don't know, he was telling me, maybe it's not so bad for you others. Sirius and James have the Ministry; they're doing something important. And the Ministry needs them. It will look after them.

As much as anyone can, I felt the need to point out.

Which, he insisted, was better than nothing. I nodded

Even you--he barely paused to spare me an apologetic look--Dumbledore has tasks even for you. He thinks you're worth something. But I'm useless. I'm not doing anything but losing sleep.

Maybe... It took me a moment to find the right way of saying it. I didn't want to make him feel any worse than he already did.

If you're not working against You-Know-Who, I said, ever so delicately, he'll have no reason to threaten you. Maybe you're safer than the rest of us put together.

Then he asked me about Rebecca Prewitt. Not her fault her husband was an Auror, he said. As much as she could, she kept out of it. But she's as dead as he is, and the children with them.

His voice was shaking, all this time. I was mesmerized by his hands, stubby fingers alternately clenched and flattened against the tabletop. Otherwise, they shook. I found myself catching it from him, as though fear was a disease transmitted by air. My teeth wanted to chatter and I had that feeling in the pit of my stomach that comes when you're about to be told bad news. Sweat pricked along my scalp and I thought, my God, is this what it's like for him all the time? He must be in agony.

I told him the Prewitts were a strategic target. I told him it was wrong, and evil, but that, in its way, it made sense; and I fought to keep my voice calm all the while, and wondered how I could possibly find sense in any of this.

He asked me whether he couldn't be used to get at me--or Sirius, or James and Lily. I don't remember what I said. Something inconsequential. Not an answer certainly.

James has Lily, he said, and soon they'll have the baby to distract them, but I haven't anyone. And aren't you and--

I shook my head. No.

Oh. He continued. Sirius has never seemed to need anyone else, anyway. But no one will miss me, when I'm gone.

That's not true, I told him. The Marauders would cease to exist, without Wormtail.

The Marauders are dead anyway, he said, bitter and melancholy. They died when we left school. They died when reality set in. As if reality were a disease, or the rigor mortis of youth.

I couldn't think of anything to say, because he was both right and so incredibly wrong it defied my efforts to put it into words. His fear and his pain and his bitterness were infecting me, until, terrifyingly, I found that what I most wanted was to run outside, under the moon, and hope that somehow its harmless crescent had become full so that I could howl at the stars and lose myself in the hunt and tear some warm, living thing into pieces so that its life could fill the hole in my own.

And then I began to get angry. What right had he to sit there quivering and make me feel such things? He was in no more danger than I was. Less, probably.

If I had been Sirius, I might have shouted. Instead I simply choked out, No. No. You're wrong. The Marauders still exist, as long as we're all here. As long as we stay together.

He gave me a disbelieving look. I stood up, shaking my head, refusing to acquiesce. I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. Could you excuse me? I asked. I've got a lot of work to finish before tomorrow.

He left without a word.

I saw him again, of course. In the next year and a half, before the Potters went into hiding, the Marauders never went more than a month without meeting. But now that I know, I can't help thinking that was the turning point. If I'd been James, I would have known what to say. I'm sure of it.

But I was only myself, and it wasn't enough.

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