I have never hated weather like this before. The sun is shining, birds singing nonchalantly as if the world has never seen darkness. I am angry that the weather doesn't match my mood, as I had anticipated when I awoke from my usual horrific nightmares. It matches my memories: The torment was endless! James and Sirius just would not disregard the fact that I had been made a Prefect. Peter obviously dissaproved, if that's what James thought, then of course Peter would think so, too. But he was often more gentle about it. He knew it wasn't my fault. Of course I was absolutely mortified, Lily Evans seemed to be the only one who thought of it as an accomplishment. Lily had always seemed like just some aggravating little girl to me, but James...he absolutley adored her! He was often asking me to make a fool of myself in fron of her, so "AmazingJames" as they called him, could come to my rescue. Repeatedly, I have wondered what would have happened of she had not finally given in to his "just one date" pleas. No one is more grateful than I that she did. No one alive, anyway.
I have taken to Number 12 Grimuald Place like a home...like a prison. I couldn't ever leave, The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black is the only memory I have of Sirius that will not fade away. I am the last Maurader. The other three are dead. The Peter I knew is dead. I will never be called Moony again. I won't allow it, it would be torture. Never again will I tramp around on the full moon like the wild beast that I was. Wrestling with a big, black dog, while a brilliant stag pawed the the groudnd playfully and a little brown rat scurried around our inhuman feet.
Why am I the last one? I would give anything to be in James' or Sirius's place. To be dead, but remembered and loved. I'm not the strong one! How am I to be any help to the Order when all I do is moap around, whishing that I was dead? Am I supposed to care for Harry? That was Sirius's job, but he's gone now, and Harry will never open to me the way he did to is godfather! What are my obligantions? What am I supposed to do, now that I'm completley alone?
**REMUS FINALLY BEGAN TO CRY FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE JAMES DIED. TEARS CAME SPILLING GENTLY DOWN HIS FACE AS HE ANGRERLY BRUSHED HIS GREYING HAIR FORM HIS EYES**
My entire life I have never loved a woman, and I haver never needed it. Never romance...just my brothers. I was happy. I hadn't the faintest idea that I would grow up the wreck that I am. Ignorance is bliss.
**REMUS WANTED NOTHING MORE THAN TO BE A CHILD AND TO LIVE A LIFE FREE OF THE CARES AND BURDENS THAT HE NOW CARRIED. THE ONLY SOUND IN THE STONE KITCHEN OF NUMBER 12 WAS HIS DRY, CHOKING SOBS.**
However, my greatest fears lie at the feet of a boy that carries his father's heart inside of him. He is the closest to James that I will ever be. If only James could see his son now, if only there was some way for things to be different...Am I supposed to care for Harry? Or will that be disrespectful to James and Sirius? Does Harry even need me? It seems highly unlilkey. The complex mind of Harry Potter has matured far beyond his physical body. In a sense of strength, and independence he is far more mature that I.
I am supposed to be filled with anger and hate for Peter, aren't I? The second wave of utter disgust for him will come soon. The first being an entire month after the Potter's death. I never knew if I was supposed to hate him sooner. I mostly wish that he wasn't such a coward. That maybe...just maybe...he could've been brave, then I wouldn't have to be alone. I was in the shadow of James and Sirius and I liked it that way. I didn't like to much attention, and besides...I wasn't alone. Peter was always too nervous to be in the spotlight. If too many people were looking at him...he began to brake down. The way he did that last night that I saw him. If only I had remembered to take my potion that night. He would not have gotten away. I feel hate, now. I want Wormtail to be dead thee times in the place of Lily, James, and Sirius. I want Wormtial to have to sit back and watch helplessly as James' only son sputters and drownds in an ocean of pain and pressure. Everyone wands Harry to save the day. Everyone wants him to be the strong one.
Harry is still angry with me for stopping him the night...that night...the night Sirius died. I just couldn't let Harry touch the body-I mean...I couldn't let Harry touch Sirius. I kept telling Harry, over, and over, I said: "Harry, he's dead, he's dead..." And no matter how many times the words came from my lips, I'm still hoping that Sirius will come strolling lizily down the stairs muttering about the latest drama involving that horrid house-elf. I just wish that Sirius didn't have to feel so alone and useless for so long. I wish just as much as anyone that he could've been proven innocent before he died. If only...if only...
**REMUS WATCHED THE FIRE CRACKLY MERRILY FORM ACROSS THE ROOM**
What a beautiful fire...I hate it! I am envious of things that are beautiful...I miss my beautiful life, so many years ago...
**AT THAT MOMENT HARRY POTTER, HIMSELF, ENTERED THE KITCHEN, SHAKING THE SNOW FROM HIS HAIR. HE HUNG HIS DRENCHED CLOAK AND BEGAN TO MAKE TEA. HE HADN'T SAID A WORD TO HIS FATHER'S OLD FRIEND. RUMUS MADE A START FOR THE DOOR, HE COULDN'T LET HARRY SEE HIM CRY. BUT THE ONE WHO WAS ONCE 'THE BOY WHO LIVED' WAS A MAN. THE GREEN-EYED MAN STOOD FIRMLY IN FRONT OF THE DOOR, BEFORE REMUS COULD REACH IT. THEY STARED AT EACH OTHER...AND BEFORE REMUS COULD EVEN REGISTER WHAT HAD HAPPENED, HARRY HAD HUGGED HIM AND WAS NOW DRYING HIS TEARS BY THE FIRE. "Thank you for not leaving." WHISPERED THE SON OF JAMES**
I am no longer without a friend...
I have taken to Number 12 Grimuald Place like a home...like a prison. I couldn't ever leave, The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black is the only memory I have of Sirius that will not fade away. I am the last Maurader. The other three are dead. The Peter I knew is dead. I will never be called Moony again. I won't allow it, it would be torture. Never again will I tramp around on the full moon like the wild beast that I was. Wrestling with a big, black dog, while a brilliant stag pawed the the groudnd playfully and a little brown rat scurried around our inhuman feet.
Why am I the last one? I would give anything to be in James' or Sirius's place. To be dead, but remembered and loved. I'm not the strong one! How am I to be any help to the Order when all I do is moap around, whishing that I was dead? Am I supposed to care for Harry? That was Sirius's job, but he's gone now, and Harry will never open to me the way he did to is godfather! What are my obligantions? What am I supposed to do, now that I'm completley alone?
**REMUS FINALLY BEGAN TO CRY FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE JAMES DIED. TEARS CAME SPILLING GENTLY DOWN HIS FACE AS HE ANGRERLY BRUSHED HIS GREYING HAIR FORM HIS EYES**
My entire life I have never loved a woman, and I haver never needed it. Never romance...just my brothers. I was happy. I hadn't the faintest idea that I would grow up the wreck that I am. Ignorance is bliss.
**REMUS WANTED NOTHING MORE THAN TO BE A CHILD AND TO LIVE A LIFE FREE OF THE CARES AND BURDENS THAT HE NOW CARRIED. THE ONLY SOUND IN THE STONE KITCHEN OF NUMBER 12 WAS HIS DRY, CHOKING SOBS.**
However, my greatest fears lie at the feet of a boy that carries his father's heart inside of him. He is the closest to James that I will ever be. If only James could see his son now, if only there was some way for things to be different...Am I supposed to care for Harry? Or will that be disrespectful to James and Sirius? Does Harry even need me? It seems highly unlilkey. The complex mind of Harry Potter has matured far beyond his physical body. In a sense of strength, and independence he is far more mature that I.
I am supposed to be filled with anger and hate for Peter, aren't I? The second wave of utter disgust for him will come soon. The first being an entire month after the Potter's death. I never knew if I was supposed to hate him sooner. I mostly wish that he wasn't such a coward. That maybe...just maybe...he could've been brave, then I wouldn't have to be alone. I was in the shadow of James and Sirius and I liked it that way. I didn't like to much attention, and besides...I wasn't alone. Peter was always too nervous to be in the spotlight. If too many people were looking at him...he began to brake down. The way he did that last night that I saw him. If only I had remembered to take my potion that night. He would not have gotten away. I feel hate, now. I want Wormtail to be dead thee times in the place of Lily, James, and Sirius. I want Wormtial to have to sit back and watch helplessly as James' only son sputters and drownds in an ocean of pain and pressure. Everyone wands Harry to save the day. Everyone wants him to be the strong one.
Harry is still angry with me for stopping him the night...that night...the night Sirius died. I just couldn't let Harry touch the body-I mean...I couldn't let Harry touch Sirius. I kept telling Harry, over, and over, I said: "Harry, he's dead, he's dead..." And no matter how many times the words came from my lips, I'm still hoping that Sirius will come strolling lizily down the stairs muttering about the latest drama involving that horrid house-elf. I just wish that Sirius didn't have to feel so alone and useless for so long. I wish just as much as anyone that he could've been proven innocent before he died. If only...if only...
**REMUS WATCHED THE FIRE CRACKLY MERRILY FORM ACROSS THE ROOM**
What a beautiful fire...I hate it! I am envious of things that are beautiful...I miss my beautiful life, so many years ago...
**AT THAT MOMENT HARRY POTTER, HIMSELF, ENTERED THE KITCHEN, SHAKING THE SNOW FROM HIS HAIR. HE HUNG HIS DRENCHED CLOAK AND BEGAN TO MAKE TEA. HE HADN'T SAID A WORD TO HIS FATHER'S OLD FRIEND. RUMUS MADE A START FOR THE DOOR, HE COULDN'T LET HARRY SEE HIM CRY. BUT THE ONE WHO WAS ONCE 'THE BOY WHO LIVED' WAS A MAN. THE GREEN-EYED MAN STOOD FIRMLY IN FRONT OF THE DOOR, BEFORE REMUS COULD REACH IT. THEY STARED AT EACH OTHER...AND BEFORE REMUS COULD EVEN REGISTER WHAT HAD HAPPENED, HARRY HAD HUGGED HIM AND WAS NOW DRYING HIS TEARS BY THE FIRE. "Thank you for not leaving." WHISPERED THE SON OF JAMES**
I am no longer without a friend...