I forgot to mention something in the last chapter: For all of you who don't know, I don't own any Harry Potter characters. They belong to J.K. Rowling. Just clearing that up. To everyone who has lived in a frozen wasteland for the past three days, I'm sorry. I prayed for some inspirational snow, and it came out of nowhere. Please blame me for any frostbite or pneumonia. I wanted to write one for Sirius, but I guess it'll have to wait. This struck me as better.
Chapter 2: Lupin
My little apartment is cramped and disheveled, but it serves its purpose. It's a place to sleep at night and it has a fire. There are charms on all the doors...I couldn't get out on a full moon if I wanted to. Last night I tried, though. There are scratch marks on the wall, and my knuckles are raw. The emblem of a guardian angel hangs crookedly above the entrance to my living room. The things her porcelain eyes have seen have probably turned her against me. I don't feel guarded here from anyone but myself. At least I can say that.
Last night was a particularly ugly spell. I've slept the day away, but my eyes are still tired. I've noticed a few gray hairs. James used to call me grandpa and try to sit on my knees. He always had a way of making the solemn seem light. I wonder what he would say about his own death?
"Moons, quit moping. You'd think I'd died or something. Oh, wait. I did! Go on then, mope. But don't forget to build me a shrine and sacrifice some virgins. I wouldn't have it any other way."
And Lily? She had always been gentle where James was infuriating.
"Remus...let me work a cheering charm on you or something. Do you want any soup? I just finished this excellent book about some muggle adventurers stumbling upon a queen who is immortal. You can read it next. It's really quite exciting! You see, they go in search of the fountain of youth and all they find is this woman who has been waiting on her true love to return for thousands of years...oh. This is bad, isn't it? Well, promise me you'll get on. I'd absolutely haunt you if you didn't."
I will never know what they would say, for they've been dead a week. I need to get out and move around. This could remove some of my stiffness, and maybe help me think things through.
It is very cold outside. October has turned into November, and the chill has turned into a bleak winter. The streets are dingy and gray with a snow that melted ages ago. Funny, I don't even remember it falling. I'm beginning to feel a little hungry, which is a good sign.
So, now for the thinking part. I'm still a little numb about it all. It hasn't sunk in, but it should any day now. What has become of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs? Prongs died at the hands of evil, along with the angel Lily. He knew he was being hunted, so he did what any sensible man would: he trusted his best friend to keep a secret. That's what happened to Padfoot. The wolfish part in me growls with feral anger, but I stifle it. I trusted Sirius more than myself, so it was only natural that James would too. Peter was grateful for everything James had done for him, but he was weak. Sirius was chosen to guard my friend with his life, and he failed us. Was it enough that James was killed? But Lily too...and little Harry having to grow up without parents. He would have to someday learn the truth, and then he would doubt his own friends. Peter...always the last, always the smallest. He had gotten Order of Merlin, but it was no compensation for the loss of his hero, and
his own life. Poor little rat; always getting his tail caught in places he shouldn't. We were never that close, as strange as it may seem. He was always a tad over eager to please us, and that made me hesitant to trust him. I feel badly about it now.
That's two dead, one worse than dead, and then me. I'm alive and almost healthy. My sanity isn't being sucked out by dementors. Then why do I feel as if I'm worse off? Those who died, they can't see the aftermath of an evil-torn race. Sirius made his decision and he is living with it. I'm the only one walking along this street, in the snow.
Snow? Oh, it must have started a while back. I didn't notice. It's falling on my uncovered head and melting in my tousled hair. The gray hairs curl instantly and I am left looking unkempt. People scuttle into their homes, shutting the doors and calling for a warm drink. Fires are started and curtains are drawn. Everyone is preparing for a night together with what remains of their family. They are learning to start over. I am preparing for a night of troubled sleep. There is no starting over when you're the only one left.
A door slams to my left.
"Mark! You're home! Get by the fire this instant; you're clothes are soaked."
"Something smells wonderful, Candace. Don't fuss, I can take off my own coat."
The voices are tentatively happy, as if this Mark and Candace are trying out happiness again for the first time in ages. They will warm up to it, eventually.
Meanwhile, the slammed door has jolted a lump of snow of an eave and it has landed at my feet. `Poor aim' I think. I remember snowball fights on the grounds at Hogwarts. Peter couldn't hit you if you stood a meter in front of him, but James had an excellent arm and even better aim. Sirius' snowballs went faster than any of them, and they all somehow managed to hit someone in the face. He said he didn't mean to, but I knew differently. Sirius liked to play rough. Lily would cower behind a tree, protesting loudly they she didn't like little boy's games. Then, when you least expected it, she would dump snow down your robes and you would be forced to shake it all out before going after her. She was great at charms, though, so any pursuer might just find their snowballs coming right back at them. She was wicked that way.
As fun as the fights could be, we would eventually be called in for dinner or classes. At night, we had the grounds to ourselves, and we could play in the snow on our own time. Padfoot would lead the way; his giant paws clearing ground for Wormtail, who needed a path. Prongs would prance on top of the snow, while I bounded over large drifts. We crossed fields and explored forests while surrounded by mounds of glittering white. It was our own world.
It isn't our world anymore. I am the only one with snow falling on my face tonight, and it melts as it mingles with tears shed for a group of friends who have fallen away from each other. Each of us had our own destiny, but none of us knew what would eventually tear us apart. Evil, weakness, betrayal, and death - and all that's left is one lone werewolf trying to find his way home again. I'll skip dinner tonight.
A mother ushers her children into a nice house on the corner. There are three of them - all blond haired and slight. There is a red ribbon draped around a post on their porch. Each child stops and touches it lightly. The mother follows behind them; a fourth fair headed child in her arms.
"Mama, let me touch it too. I want to touch it." The woman bends over and lets her baby finger the delicate memorial.
I know these ribbon signs well; red ribbons mark the homes that have suffered losses of human life. Up and down the street, curtains begin to cover windows, and the smells of food fill the air. I notice that almost every house has a red ribbon. I am no exception; I have three of them hanging over my heart. The snow falls a little harder on the streets of a recovering world. It's time I took the ribbons down and dwelled a little less often in my memories. Or not. At this point, memories are all I have. The snow-covered forests of my past are no longer mine to live in, for there is no one to share them with.
~*~*~*~
Chapter 2: Lupin
My little apartment is cramped and disheveled, but it serves its purpose. It's a place to sleep at night and it has a fire. There are charms on all the doors...I couldn't get out on a full moon if I wanted to. Last night I tried, though. There are scratch marks on the wall, and my knuckles are raw. The emblem of a guardian angel hangs crookedly above the entrance to my living room. The things her porcelain eyes have seen have probably turned her against me. I don't feel guarded here from anyone but myself. At least I can say that.
Last night was a particularly ugly spell. I've slept the day away, but my eyes are still tired. I've noticed a few gray hairs. James used to call me grandpa and try to sit on my knees. He always had a way of making the solemn seem light. I wonder what he would say about his own death?
"Moons, quit moping. You'd think I'd died or something. Oh, wait. I did! Go on then, mope. But don't forget to build me a shrine and sacrifice some virgins. I wouldn't have it any other way."
And Lily? She had always been gentle where James was infuriating.
"Remus...let me work a cheering charm on you or something. Do you want any soup? I just finished this excellent book about some muggle adventurers stumbling upon a queen who is immortal. You can read it next. It's really quite exciting! You see, they go in search of the fountain of youth and all they find is this woman who has been waiting on her true love to return for thousands of years...oh. This is bad, isn't it? Well, promise me you'll get on. I'd absolutely haunt you if you didn't."
I will never know what they would say, for they've been dead a week. I need to get out and move around. This could remove some of my stiffness, and maybe help me think things through.
It is very cold outside. October has turned into November, and the chill has turned into a bleak winter. The streets are dingy and gray with a snow that melted ages ago. Funny, I don't even remember it falling. I'm beginning to feel a little hungry, which is a good sign.
So, now for the thinking part. I'm still a little numb about it all. It hasn't sunk in, but it should any day now. What has become of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs? Prongs died at the hands of evil, along with the angel Lily. He knew he was being hunted, so he did what any sensible man would: he trusted his best friend to keep a secret. That's what happened to Padfoot. The wolfish part in me growls with feral anger, but I stifle it. I trusted Sirius more than myself, so it was only natural that James would too. Peter was grateful for everything James had done for him, but he was weak. Sirius was chosen to guard my friend with his life, and he failed us. Was it enough that James was killed? But Lily too...and little Harry having to grow up without parents. He would have to someday learn the truth, and then he would doubt his own friends. Peter...always the last, always the smallest. He had gotten Order of Merlin, but it was no compensation for the loss of his hero, and
his own life. Poor little rat; always getting his tail caught in places he shouldn't. We were never that close, as strange as it may seem. He was always a tad over eager to please us, and that made me hesitant to trust him. I feel badly about it now.
That's two dead, one worse than dead, and then me. I'm alive and almost healthy. My sanity isn't being sucked out by dementors. Then why do I feel as if I'm worse off? Those who died, they can't see the aftermath of an evil-torn race. Sirius made his decision and he is living with it. I'm the only one walking along this street, in the snow.
Snow? Oh, it must have started a while back. I didn't notice. It's falling on my uncovered head and melting in my tousled hair. The gray hairs curl instantly and I am left looking unkempt. People scuttle into their homes, shutting the doors and calling for a warm drink. Fires are started and curtains are drawn. Everyone is preparing for a night together with what remains of their family. They are learning to start over. I am preparing for a night of troubled sleep. There is no starting over when you're the only one left.
A door slams to my left.
"Mark! You're home! Get by the fire this instant; you're clothes are soaked."
"Something smells wonderful, Candace. Don't fuss, I can take off my own coat."
The voices are tentatively happy, as if this Mark and Candace are trying out happiness again for the first time in ages. They will warm up to it, eventually.
Meanwhile, the slammed door has jolted a lump of snow of an eave and it has landed at my feet. `Poor aim' I think. I remember snowball fights on the grounds at Hogwarts. Peter couldn't hit you if you stood a meter in front of him, but James had an excellent arm and even better aim. Sirius' snowballs went faster than any of them, and they all somehow managed to hit someone in the face. He said he didn't mean to, but I knew differently. Sirius liked to play rough. Lily would cower behind a tree, protesting loudly they she didn't like little boy's games. Then, when you least expected it, she would dump snow down your robes and you would be forced to shake it all out before going after her. She was great at charms, though, so any pursuer might just find their snowballs coming right back at them. She was wicked that way.
As fun as the fights could be, we would eventually be called in for dinner or classes. At night, we had the grounds to ourselves, and we could play in the snow on our own time. Padfoot would lead the way; his giant paws clearing ground for Wormtail, who needed a path. Prongs would prance on top of the snow, while I bounded over large drifts. We crossed fields and explored forests while surrounded by mounds of glittering white. It was our own world.
It isn't our world anymore. I am the only one with snow falling on my face tonight, and it melts as it mingles with tears shed for a group of friends who have fallen away from each other. Each of us had our own destiny, but none of us knew what would eventually tear us apart. Evil, weakness, betrayal, and death - and all that's left is one lone werewolf trying to find his way home again. I'll skip dinner tonight.
A mother ushers her children into a nice house on the corner. There are three of them - all blond haired and slight. There is a red ribbon draped around a post on their porch. Each child stops and touches it lightly. The mother follows behind them; a fourth fair headed child in her arms.
"Mama, let me touch it too. I want to touch it." The woman bends over and lets her baby finger the delicate memorial.
I know these ribbon signs well; red ribbons mark the homes that have suffered losses of human life. Up and down the street, curtains begin to cover windows, and the smells of food fill the air. I notice that almost every house has a red ribbon. I am no exception; I have three of them hanging over my heart. The snow falls a little harder on the streets of a recovering world. It's time I took the ribbons down and dwelled a little less often in my memories. Or not. At this point, memories are all I have. The snow-covered forests of my past are no longer mine to live in, for there is no one to share them with.
~*~*~*~