Disclaimer; the words are my own. The characters and situation belong to
JKR
The Last One
I suppose I've always known that I'm meant to be alone. Set apart from others for almost as long as I can remember, spurned by most and feared, to some degree, by all. Even before the bite, I was a solitary child. My earliest memory is of my mother, bending over me and asking me if I minded being left alone. I asked why people minded. And then, all through my childhood, I was alone. I never played with other kids, I never even wanted to. I wasn't shy, just.alone. And then, after the bite, I began to wonder what I would be like to have friends, to run in the garden playing as I saw the others in my neighbourhood do. My mother crushed that notion immediately.
"You're too different, Remie. You're special. The other children aren't like you, and you aren't like them. You're better off here, playing with me."
That was how she always referred to my condition, as my being 'special'. I suppose she couldn't bring herself to say 'cursed'. My father understood. He was like me, quiet, always reading when he wasn't at work. He would bring me new books, and teach me about all kinds of things - the stars, potions, the meanings of the dreams I would have. I loved it. I loved knowing what each constellation was called, what each dream meant. I would never tire of learning. He even taught me about the moon, saying that it was best to 'know one's enemy'.
So I spent my early life buried in books and charts, rarely leaving the house. My parents would lock me in the garden shed at the full moon, smuggling me out under an invisibility cloak, my mother crying, my father looking even graver than usual. When it was over, they would sneak me back into the house and my mother would treat my injuries while my father removed the silencing charms from the shed and whisked all traces of the transformation out of sight. The shed became my nemesis as much as the full moon; I grew to dread it and avoid it on my infrequent trips out of the safety of my house.
And then, the letter came from Hogwarts; I was welcome to attend the school, even with my 'condition'. There was a very kind, unobtrusive, tactful letter from Dumbledore, stating that there was a building suitable for my transformations. My fellow students - and, more importantly, their parents - would not be informed. I was delighted! I could go to school and learn! My mother didn't want me to go. She insisted that I would be shunned by the students, even if they did not know that I was a werewolf, that my life would be made miserable. My father, in his quiet way, told her that it was my decision, and he would support me one way or the other. I went.
I will never forget that first train ride to Hogwarts. I had a compartment to myself, which suited me well; I was not afraid of the others, as my mother was, but nor did I actively seek their company. I was content to have access to the library and teachers, with their incredible store of knowledge. I had planned out a glorious life for myself; a life of quiet study and solitude. I was not, however, to be granted that life.
My first term passed uneventfully enough; I was working hard and coming top of all my classes. I loved being able to ask the teachers my questions, and to have unlimited access to thousands of books was no less than ecstasy. I had been sorted, to my surprise, into Gryffindor - I had expected to be in Ravenclaw, like my father - and liked my fellow students well enough. To my surprise, they seemed to like me, too. Once a month, I would escape from the castle into an abandoned house to transform, but even that became tolerable when I had the thought of school to console me. This was not, however, to last.
Halfway through my second term at Hogwarts, I became friends with a boy called James Potter. We met because he asked for my help with a Defense against the Dark Arts essay - Defense was my favourite subject - and was I surprised to find that his enthusiasm for practical jokes was undiminished when applied to work. He was an excellent student, and in return for my help, offered to lend me any of the books he had brought with him from his own library. We spent more and more time together - full moons excepted - and by the end of the term, were fast friends. I had never before had a friend, someone to swap chocolate frog cards with and compare Quidditch tactics with, and I could scarcely believe that someone as popular as James would want to be friends with me. Soon, he introduced me to his other friends, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, and together the four of us got up to all sort of mischief.
When I returned home for the summer, my parents were astonished by the change in me, especially my mother. I was still a top student, but I spent that summer planning jaunts to Diagon Alley with James and Sirius - Peter was away, visiting relatives - and talking spiritedly about these amazing friends.
I returned to Hogwarts in September, and the fun was by no means diminished. There was only one shadow hanging over me; my friends did not know what I was, and I was terrified that they would abandon me if they found out. I began to make up excuses for my monthly absences, excuses that became steadily more and more elaborate. Halfway through my second year, my worst fears were realized; they confronted me, asking where I really disappeared to each month. I could no longer lie to them; Sirius and James were far too intelligent to overlook the fact that my various illnesses and dying relatives coincided with the full moon. Miserably, I told them the truth, expecting them to be repulsed and expose me to the school. Instead or terror and revulsion, I was met by calm acceptance and even curiosity from Sirius. For the first time in my life, there were people other than my parents who knew the truth about me and didn't care. For the first time, I was not alone.
For five more years, I cheated fate. When James and Sirius worked out how to become Animagi and the four of us christened ourselves the Marauders, I felt that life could get no better. With the aid of a map masterminded by James and myself, with enthusiastic endorsement from Sirius, we wreaked havoc among the Slytherins, paying particular attention to one Severus Snape, a rather unpleasant boy in our year.
When those seven years were over, the four of us left Hogwarts to arrive in a dark and fear-filled world. We immediately pledged ourselves to the Order of the Phoenix, a defense league set up by Dumbledore, but I began to feel the loneliness coming back. The missions that we were sent on were hazardous and long, and I began to see less and less of my school friends. I had requested early on to Dumbledore that I was always sent on my quests alone, because I could not face the idea of telling my partners what I was, dreading the disgusted looks I was bound to get. And then, James and Lilly married. I was thrilled at the time; in our last years at Hogwarts, Lilly had become a surrogate sister of sorts to me, and was the only one beside the Marauders and Dumbledore who knew of my condition and didn't give a damn. I attended their wedding, and for an afternoon lived again that mysterious life where I was not alone.
The month Harry was born, I visited them again. I played with him, and tried to teach him to say long, complicated spells. James was more successful with 'git' and 'broom'. Lilly's prowess with conventional words, such as 'mummy' and 'daddy' also outstripped my own 'Wingardium Leviosa' and 'Expecto Patronum', although the baby did giggle at the last.
I returned to their house eleven months later. I had just finished another mission for the order, and was exhausted and disheartened by the terrible things I had witnessed. I found Lilly and James pale and nervous, preparing to go into hiding. They told me that Dumbledore was worried, that they feared someone close to them had turned traitor. I was worried, but they forced smiles and told me not to be silly. I spent a restful weekend with them, and Sirius and Peter joined us for a day. The last time we were all together, the last time I would feel contented and secure. The last time I saw James and Lilly.
The news came a month later - they were dead. Sirius had killed them. I was numb for days, until the rest of the news came; Sirius had been captured. Peter, in an attempt to avenge Lilly and James, was also gone. Dead - or so I believed.
I was alone then, as I had not been since before Hogwarts. The last of the Marauders (although I refused to mention that name, it was too painful), the last remnant of the old times, the times before treachery and death. The last of our friends, nearly the last of out year at Hogwarts. The last of so many things.
I no longer had the Order to throw myself into. I was told by Dumbledore that Harry was safe, in the hands of him Muggle relatives, but I could not see him. I accepted this and threw myself again into a kind of half-life of study and seclusion, but now that life was interrupted by a stream of dreams. Dreams of the past, fragments of the life I had built for myself. I shut myself away, trying to ignore the gaping hole of loneliness. My parents were both dead, now, killed by Deatheaters, as were most of the Order. A few remained, but I stayed away; I could not face them. Despite my attempts to resume my life before Hogwarts, I could never quite forget the pain of having loved and lost.
Finally, the summons came from Dumbledore; he wanted me to take a teaching position as Defense Professor. I accepted, expecting nothing more than a way to fill the time. What I found was almost harder to live with; another James. Harry Potter was very like his father, a living reminder of what everyone had lost. Every class, I could see James and Lilly battling within him, along with something that was his own. Every class, I was reminded of the agony of losing them, and Peter, and Sirius.
And then, the fateful day arrived when I learned of Sirius' innocence. I was no longer alone! Peter was gone, as lost to me as Lilly and James, but Sirius was there, real, alive, and there were two of us there to fight against Voldemort. Two of us to cling to the final vestiges of our old life and in doing so, defeat him.
For two years, we fought. New people entered the fight, some claiming vacant roles, some creating new. Sirius and I resumed our places in the Order; I spoke to many old friends with whom I had retained no contact since Voldemort had fallen. The final Marauders reclaimed their title; together, Sirius and I kept alive the memories of life before the real world hit us, the charmed life of innocent school boys.
Now, he is dead, and I am alone again. For the last time, this time. There will be no miracle resurrection of my old life. All that is left of those times is a memory. The last of my friends, gone. I am the last of their friends. I knew all along that it would be this way, I suppose. I will never submit to Voldemort. I will not crumble as Peter did. I know that my time is limited. I know that I will probably not escape Voldemort this time, that I will die in battle as James and Sirius did. But I also know that our spirits will live on, through Harry and his friends. They will fight, as we fought, and with luck they will not die as Sirius and James have, as I will soon. With luck, Voldemort will never be able to completely erase the Marauders.
I sit, alone, and watch an old photograph that I have found in a drawer. It shows the four of us, in our sixth year. The other three gone, I remain. The last Marauder, the last of my family, the last werewolf in Britain. Once again, the last one.
The Last One
I suppose I've always known that I'm meant to be alone. Set apart from others for almost as long as I can remember, spurned by most and feared, to some degree, by all. Even before the bite, I was a solitary child. My earliest memory is of my mother, bending over me and asking me if I minded being left alone. I asked why people minded. And then, all through my childhood, I was alone. I never played with other kids, I never even wanted to. I wasn't shy, just.alone. And then, after the bite, I began to wonder what I would be like to have friends, to run in the garden playing as I saw the others in my neighbourhood do. My mother crushed that notion immediately.
"You're too different, Remie. You're special. The other children aren't like you, and you aren't like them. You're better off here, playing with me."
That was how she always referred to my condition, as my being 'special'. I suppose she couldn't bring herself to say 'cursed'. My father understood. He was like me, quiet, always reading when he wasn't at work. He would bring me new books, and teach me about all kinds of things - the stars, potions, the meanings of the dreams I would have. I loved it. I loved knowing what each constellation was called, what each dream meant. I would never tire of learning. He even taught me about the moon, saying that it was best to 'know one's enemy'.
So I spent my early life buried in books and charts, rarely leaving the house. My parents would lock me in the garden shed at the full moon, smuggling me out under an invisibility cloak, my mother crying, my father looking even graver than usual. When it was over, they would sneak me back into the house and my mother would treat my injuries while my father removed the silencing charms from the shed and whisked all traces of the transformation out of sight. The shed became my nemesis as much as the full moon; I grew to dread it and avoid it on my infrequent trips out of the safety of my house.
And then, the letter came from Hogwarts; I was welcome to attend the school, even with my 'condition'. There was a very kind, unobtrusive, tactful letter from Dumbledore, stating that there was a building suitable for my transformations. My fellow students - and, more importantly, their parents - would not be informed. I was delighted! I could go to school and learn! My mother didn't want me to go. She insisted that I would be shunned by the students, even if they did not know that I was a werewolf, that my life would be made miserable. My father, in his quiet way, told her that it was my decision, and he would support me one way or the other. I went.
I will never forget that first train ride to Hogwarts. I had a compartment to myself, which suited me well; I was not afraid of the others, as my mother was, but nor did I actively seek their company. I was content to have access to the library and teachers, with their incredible store of knowledge. I had planned out a glorious life for myself; a life of quiet study and solitude. I was not, however, to be granted that life.
My first term passed uneventfully enough; I was working hard and coming top of all my classes. I loved being able to ask the teachers my questions, and to have unlimited access to thousands of books was no less than ecstasy. I had been sorted, to my surprise, into Gryffindor - I had expected to be in Ravenclaw, like my father - and liked my fellow students well enough. To my surprise, they seemed to like me, too. Once a month, I would escape from the castle into an abandoned house to transform, but even that became tolerable when I had the thought of school to console me. This was not, however, to last.
Halfway through my second term at Hogwarts, I became friends with a boy called James Potter. We met because he asked for my help with a Defense against the Dark Arts essay - Defense was my favourite subject - and was I surprised to find that his enthusiasm for practical jokes was undiminished when applied to work. He was an excellent student, and in return for my help, offered to lend me any of the books he had brought with him from his own library. We spent more and more time together - full moons excepted - and by the end of the term, were fast friends. I had never before had a friend, someone to swap chocolate frog cards with and compare Quidditch tactics with, and I could scarcely believe that someone as popular as James would want to be friends with me. Soon, he introduced me to his other friends, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, and together the four of us got up to all sort of mischief.
When I returned home for the summer, my parents were astonished by the change in me, especially my mother. I was still a top student, but I spent that summer planning jaunts to Diagon Alley with James and Sirius - Peter was away, visiting relatives - and talking spiritedly about these amazing friends.
I returned to Hogwarts in September, and the fun was by no means diminished. There was only one shadow hanging over me; my friends did not know what I was, and I was terrified that they would abandon me if they found out. I began to make up excuses for my monthly absences, excuses that became steadily more and more elaborate. Halfway through my second year, my worst fears were realized; they confronted me, asking where I really disappeared to each month. I could no longer lie to them; Sirius and James were far too intelligent to overlook the fact that my various illnesses and dying relatives coincided with the full moon. Miserably, I told them the truth, expecting them to be repulsed and expose me to the school. Instead or terror and revulsion, I was met by calm acceptance and even curiosity from Sirius. For the first time in my life, there were people other than my parents who knew the truth about me and didn't care. For the first time, I was not alone.
For five more years, I cheated fate. When James and Sirius worked out how to become Animagi and the four of us christened ourselves the Marauders, I felt that life could get no better. With the aid of a map masterminded by James and myself, with enthusiastic endorsement from Sirius, we wreaked havoc among the Slytherins, paying particular attention to one Severus Snape, a rather unpleasant boy in our year.
When those seven years were over, the four of us left Hogwarts to arrive in a dark and fear-filled world. We immediately pledged ourselves to the Order of the Phoenix, a defense league set up by Dumbledore, but I began to feel the loneliness coming back. The missions that we were sent on were hazardous and long, and I began to see less and less of my school friends. I had requested early on to Dumbledore that I was always sent on my quests alone, because I could not face the idea of telling my partners what I was, dreading the disgusted looks I was bound to get. And then, James and Lilly married. I was thrilled at the time; in our last years at Hogwarts, Lilly had become a surrogate sister of sorts to me, and was the only one beside the Marauders and Dumbledore who knew of my condition and didn't give a damn. I attended their wedding, and for an afternoon lived again that mysterious life where I was not alone.
The month Harry was born, I visited them again. I played with him, and tried to teach him to say long, complicated spells. James was more successful with 'git' and 'broom'. Lilly's prowess with conventional words, such as 'mummy' and 'daddy' also outstripped my own 'Wingardium Leviosa' and 'Expecto Patronum', although the baby did giggle at the last.
I returned to their house eleven months later. I had just finished another mission for the order, and was exhausted and disheartened by the terrible things I had witnessed. I found Lilly and James pale and nervous, preparing to go into hiding. They told me that Dumbledore was worried, that they feared someone close to them had turned traitor. I was worried, but they forced smiles and told me not to be silly. I spent a restful weekend with them, and Sirius and Peter joined us for a day. The last time we were all together, the last time I would feel contented and secure. The last time I saw James and Lilly.
The news came a month later - they were dead. Sirius had killed them. I was numb for days, until the rest of the news came; Sirius had been captured. Peter, in an attempt to avenge Lilly and James, was also gone. Dead - or so I believed.
I was alone then, as I had not been since before Hogwarts. The last of the Marauders (although I refused to mention that name, it was too painful), the last remnant of the old times, the times before treachery and death. The last of our friends, nearly the last of out year at Hogwarts. The last of so many things.
I no longer had the Order to throw myself into. I was told by Dumbledore that Harry was safe, in the hands of him Muggle relatives, but I could not see him. I accepted this and threw myself again into a kind of half-life of study and seclusion, but now that life was interrupted by a stream of dreams. Dreams of the past, fragments of the life I had built for myself. I shut myself away, trying to ignore the gaping hole of loneliness. My parents were both dead, now, killed by Deatheaters, as were most of the Order. A few remained, but I stayed away; I could not face them. Despite my attempts to resume my life before Hogwarts, I could never quite forget the pain of having loved and lost.
Finally, the summons came from Dumbledore; he wanted me to take a teaching position as Defense Professor. I accepted, expecting nothing more than a way to fill the time. What I found was almost harder to live with; another James. Harry Potter was very like his father, a living reminder of what everyone had lost. Every class, I could see James and Lilly battling within him, along with something that was his own. Every class, I was reminded of the agony of losing them, and Peter, and Sirius.
And then, the fateful day arrived when I learned of Sirius' innocence. I was no longer alone! Peter was gone, as lost to me as Lilly and James, but Sirius was there, real, alive, and there were two of us there to fight against Voldemort. Two of us to cling to the final vestiges of our old life and in doing so, defeat him.
For two years, we fought. New people entered the fight, some claiming vacant roles, some creating new. Sirius and I resumed our places in the Order; I spoke to many old friends with whom I had retained no contact since Voldemort had fallen. The final Marauders reclaimed their title; together, Sirius and I kept alive the memories of life before the real world hit us, the charmed life of innocent school boys.
Now, he is dead, and I am alone again. For the last time, this time. There will be no miracle resurrection of my old life. All that is left of those times is a memory. The last of my friends, gone. I am the last of their friends. I knew all along that it would be this way, I suppose. I will never submit to Voldemort. I will not crumble as Peter did. I know that my time is limited. I know that I will probably not escape Voldemort this time, that I will die in battle as James and Sirius did. But I also know that our spirits will live on, through Harry and his friends. They will fight, as we fought, and with luck they will not die as Sirius and James have, as I will soon. With luck, Voldemort will never be able to completely erase the Marauders.
I sit, alone, and watch an old photograph that I have found in a drawer. It shows the four of us, in our sixth year. The other three gone, I remain. The last Marauder, the last of my family, the last werewolf in Britain. Once again, the last one.